Shadow 1. Manhattan Memories

**The Darkness Inside**

A _Shadow_/_Spider-Man_ Crossover by Stephensmat and Scarlet

* * *

(**Authors' Note:** This story is set in the Stephensmat/Scarlet crossover universe featuring Stephen Cranston, grandson of Lamont Cranston as The Shadow and the movie version of Peter Parker as Spider-Man, and is primarily framed around the 2007 film **Spider-Man 3**. Due to the character insertions, and the history of the characters, there are some AU elements, but obviously, neither of us owns any character or concept written about here. Enjoy, and please review…**S&S**)

* * *

Peter stood watching the video images on one of Times Square's Jumbotron, a mini-movie of Spider-Man swinging across Manhattan. It really was amazing to see himself this way, almost like an out-of-body experience. Of course, he knew what he was watching wasn't _actually_ him, it was CGI designed to look like him, but it was still pretty cool. The kids by his side were going "Woo!" and "Whoa!" and "Wicked!" as their hero flew from scene to scene.

The featurette ended with a shot of Spider-Man swinging straight into the "main camera", followed by a smash-cut to a light blue screen with red lettering, a declaration of "NY Hearts Spider-Man", part of a week-long celebration of the masked arachno-human's crime-fighting career that was due to culminate in a "Key To The City" ceremony.

The kids turned away and started to walk off.

"Hang around a few minutes," Peter called after them. "It's about to start again!"

"Nah," the kids said, heading off to wherever they were supposed to be heading off to.

Peter gave a laugh, and then returned to staring at the screen. This was so cool. It was amazing that in just a few short years, he'd gone from public enemy #1 to World's Greatest Superhero. This rocked. It felt good to finally be the coolest kid in town.

"Spider-Man, Spider-Man…does whatever a spider can," a familiar voice approached him from behind, singing the silly busker's song in a minor key.

Peter rolled his eyes and looked behind him at the approach of his partner, Stephen Cranston. "You're just jealous 'cause nobody's written a song for you," he replied.

Stephen Cranston joined Peter in looking up at the Jumbotron. "In the 1930s, one radio station here in town used a segment from Opus 31 of Saint-Saëns' 'Le Rouet d'Omphale' whenever they introduced news stories about The Shadow. Unfortunately, it's not a catchy tune and doesn't make a good sound-chip in a kid's toy."

Peter looked at Stephen and raised an eyebrow. "You _are_ jealous."

Stephen gave a slightly shadowy chuckle. "Hardly. Would I have arranged all of this if I were?"

"I dunno…you do some pretty freaky things…"

"True enough." Stephen gave another shadowy chuckle. "Seriously, I'm proud of you, Peter. You've come a long way from that skinny 17-year-old spider-bit nerd you told me you used to be. Congratulations."

Peter laughed at the odd compliment as the two men shook hands.

"So," Stephen said in a change of subject, "I thought you had an afternoon class. At least, that's the excuse you gave me to get out of The Sanctum."

"I do," Peter said, checking his watch. "Classical Mechanics, with Connors."

"And Gwen Stacy."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You might have warned me before we got assigned as lab partners that physics is her weakest subject."

"Why should I warn you? She never told me."

"Yeah, but The Shadow is supposed to know these things."

"That's why I have agents. They find these things out for me." He reached into an inside pocket in his suitcoat and flipped open the black case for his newest toy--a custom-designed PocketPC phone with dual SIM cards for both Stephen Cranston's casual cell calls and The Shadow's mobile communications and call encryption that could be enabled at the flick of a switch--and checked his schedule. "Don't forget MJ's play tonight," he said.

Peter looked annoyed. "No way I'm missing this. I've been at every preview show and haven't been late once yet…"

Stephen laughed again. "That wasn't for you. That was a note from Chloe officially putting it on my calendar so I'll get a reminder buzz to make sure I get there on time." He checked his phone messages quickly, since he'd been ignoring calls in the Sanctum, part of his ongoing effort to separate the duties of being both Cranston Industries' CEO and the Master of Darkness who was a different sort of CEO. "And there's a phone message from Sarah, probably reminding me of the same thing." Then he checked his watch. "That said, you'll be in trouble if you have to stay late in lecture this afternoon because you didn't make it to class on time…"

"I hear ya," Peter laughed, getting on his moped and pulling on his helmet. "See you tonight?"

"Count on it," Stephen said with a smile, crossing the street to climb into Moe Shrevnitz's waiting cab.

* * *

Classical Mechanics was one of Peter's favorite physics subjects. The whole notion of "everything happens for a reason" was one that Peter had always heard growing up and had tried as hard as he could to live by as Spider-Man; the idea that the vagaries he'd heard as a child had actual uses in scientific study was oddly reassuring, even if it did make for sometimes dull lectures, like the one Dr. Connors was giving today. Peter's mind kept drifting to the sound of Mary Jane's beautiful singing voice in the opening number of _Manhattan Memories_, the "new" musical with a fairly thin plot used to string together a few dozen 30s and 40s era standards, so any other distractions were only going to make the matter worse…

…like the spitball one of the more immature students in the back row had shot into the back of his head.

Peter frowned. There were times he realized that it had been beneficial not to go straight into grad school after getting his bachelor's degree, and students like Damon Nelson only made that more obvious. This was stupid grade-school stuff, and Peter had never enjoyed being the target of those kinds of pranks throughout his public school education. He gave the guy behind him a dirty look, then turned back to the front…

…just in time to hear Dr. Connors reach the first moment of classroom interaction in the lecture. Peter gave a glance at his watch. _Thirty-two minutes in,_ he mentally noted with a wry smile. _That's got to be a record for the longest mathematical babbling in history._

"The Hamiltonian shows us that the energy levels are perturbed by the electric field," Connors said as he tapped each section of the matrix he'd written on the board. "From the form of this matrix, we can see…" He turned to face his students and wasn't at all surprised that there were only two hands up, and one of them was Peter's. The student he'd once described as "brilliant but lazy" during his undergrad days had completely changed his attitude and behavior since he'd come back to work on his Master's…he was still brilliant, but the term "lazy" didn't even come close to fitting any more. Some days in this class, it was almost as if the pair were having a one-on-one session, because nobody else ever wanted to respond.

But this time there was another hand up, and Connors liked encouraging diversity in student interaction. "Miss Stacy!" he said, pointing to her.

Gwen hesitated over her answer, then finally said it. "That only the m-equals-zero quantum states are affected."

Connors nodded his approval. "Excellent! Good work, Miss Stacy."

Gwen giggled, excited that she was finally figuring some of this more complicated stuff out. Thank goodness for her lab partner, who could probably do this stuff in his sleep. She turned around and gave a grin to Peter.

Peter grinned back and gave her a "thumbs up".

And as he did, another immature grad student in the front row angled a mirror to blind his left eye.

Peter instinctively put up his hand to block the light.

"You have something to add, Mr. Parker?" Connors asked in response to the raised hand.

Peter held back on shooting either a death glare or a strand of webbing at the annoying tormentor, then gave a polite smile and shook his head at Dr. Connors. "No, sir."

Connors gave a sigh. Maybe he _should_ turn this into a one-on-one or two-on-one study group. It would at least keep his best students from being looked at as "teacher's pets" and tormented appropriately. Or maybe he could see if he could find a way to more safely recreate that lizard-thing he'd turned into earlier this year and beat some sense into the rest of the lazy bums.

Then he decided that nothing about _that_ incident was anything he had any desire to repeat, so he merely shrugged and returned to the lecture.

* * *

That night, Stephen Cranston, now dressed to the nines in an understated black tuxedo, knocked on Sarah Branson's rowhouse door.

Sarah answered. "You're on time. Color me shocked."

Stephen gave a chuckle. "Well, it's not like I haven't had enough reminder alarms today." Then he looked her over. "You look fantastic."

Sarah looked at her formal dress, some hideous thing she'd once worn as a bridesmaid in a wedding, hoping it would be appropriate since she'd never been to a real Broadway opening night before. "It's not too much?"

"It's perfect." Stephen gave her a kiss on the cheek, then handed her the corsage he'd bought her.

Sarah laughed. "Wow, I didn't realize we were going to the prom."

"All those formals blend together in my head." He pinned it to her dress, once more admiring how she looked in it. "Ready?"

Sarah fished her keys out of her clutch purse and stepped outside onto the front stoop. She quickly locked the door, then offered Stephen her arm. "Ready."

Stephen escorted her down the stairs to his waiting limousine.

"No cab?" Sarah observed.

Stephen shook his head. "It's Moe's night off. Mine, too."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "At least I know you're not planning to go blow up a meth lab at intermission," she noted as she got into the limo.

"Don't be silly," he said as he joined her in the back seat. "That was last night."

The two of them laughed as the chauffeur closed the door.

* * *

Peter stepped up to the box office "Will Call" window at the Broadhurst Theatre, feeling more nervous about this moment than he ever had fighting supervillains. "I'm Peter Parker," he said to the clerk. "Miss Watson…she's in the show…she said she was leaving a ticket for me."

The woman flipped open a pouch of preprinted tickets in envelopes and found the one marked "Watson guest--Peter Parker". She handed him the envelope.

Peter smiled his thanks and headed inside.

* * *

Sarah took a seat in a private box in the balcony of the Broadhurst Theatre that Stephen had led them to. "Wow," she said. "Who did you have to kill to get _these_ seats?"

"Victor," Stephen noted with a wry grimace. "These were his. Actually, they were Granddaddy's, and Victor inherited them. I've used them a handful of times, usually to impress chicks."

"Of course you have," Sarah replied, trying to appear unimpressed. "Great seats, though. Great view of the whole stage. Of course, you need opera glasses to get close-ups…"

Stephen placed a pair of opera glasses in her lap.

"Aha. Grandma's?"

"Yes." Stephen pulled his own out of his pocket. "Genuine antiques. So don't break them."

"Your faith in me is most reassuring." She glanced through them toward the entrances to confirm what her clairvoyance was telling her. "Hey, Peter's on time for once. What, did you bribe the local crime bosses to take the night off?"

"I did no such thing. Peter's becoming respectably punctual these days."

"Yeah, I give that about a week before some supervillain rears his ugly head and decides to make us all miserable again."

"You're becoming cynical, Miss Branson."

"No, merely more suspicious." She hesitated, then decided to bring up something that had been bothering her for weeks now. "He does know you're seeing his girlfriend, right?"

Stephen froze. "How do you know about that?"

She merely looked at him, as if the answer should be obvious.

He frowned. "I thought I told you to stop being a clairvoyant peeping tom."

She shrugged, trying not to betray jealousy. "Personally, I don't care, but Peter might, and he's a lot stronger than you."

Stephen's mind simply went blank, and Sarah frowned. He was keeping her out. He was quite dramatically keeping her out, blocking her clairvoyance and latent telepathy in ways he hadn't done before his latest trip to the temple. That made her look at him even more oddly. "What?" she finally asked in a voice barely above a whisper. "What is going on that you can't tell me? I already know she's doing some of the grunt work Victor used to do--not that I'm upset about that or anything--but that can't be all of it or you wouldn't be putting up walls like this. What is going on?"

"Look…there are things...that I don't tell anyone. Sometimes I have to give an agent an assignment that I wish I didn't have to give. MJ is…uniquely qualified for this, and I'm working with her closely to...prepare her for this mission. So _please_ stop peeking in on us. This assignment is so important that I don't want to jeopardize it in any way."

She took a moment to decide if he was really serious, then decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "O.K.," she finally said. "Just make sure no one else catches you. You never know who else might be watching."

Stephen looked across the theatre and frowned at what he saw in his opera glasses. "Speaking of watching…"

Sarah looked up and followed his gaze with her own glasses. "Oh, joy. Look who's back in town."

* * *

The figure The Shadow and his clairvoyant agent were observing was Harry Osborn, freshly back from England after enrolling in Oxford to pursue a degree in chemistry, with additional classes in aeronautics. Harry was a pretty bad student, but he was also a desperate man who truly wanted to understand what his true mission in life was--a discovery he'd made after finding out that his best friend, Peter Parker, was his father's murderer. Norman Osborn had ordered Harry to avenge his death, and had even left the means for Harry to do so--the OsCorp performance enhancement formula, pumpkin bombs, glider parts, a massive hidden cache of funds, etc. As insane as following orders from a ghost/memory/vision was, Harry was determined to do so, no matter how long it took him to do it.

But for now, he was more interested in seeing what "The Bug" was up to these days. So he'd come to opening night of Mary Jane Watson's latest attempt at acting, _Manhattan Memories_, on the off-chance that he might see Peter there. If he did, all the better, as he could then get a handle on what Peter was doing these days. If he didn't, well, that wasn't necessarily bad news, as it meant he could enjoy watching the beautiful Mary Jane perform without having to think about the fact that she was just another reminder of how much Peter Parker had stolen from him.

So, he picked up his opera glasses and searched the theatre for his prey…which had just taken a seat front and center.

Harry smiled. This might be an entertaining night after all.

* * *

Peter quickly settled into his front-row seat, feeling himself about to burst with pride over Mary Jane's Broadway debut. He was giggling giddily and smiling the most goofy smile he'd ever shown anyone, even when two well-dressed and slightly overweight older men took seats on either side of him. He imagined they were theatre critics, and he just knew they'd be completely taken by his love's performance. How could they not be? Peter himself was.

"I'm so excited," he finally said aloud to no one in particular.

The two men merely grunted at him as the lights went down.

* * *

Standing atop the midnight blue set as the curtains parted was Mary Jane Watson, dressed in a long, flowing silver-white gown, hair piled atop her head and held into place with jeweled hairpins and a beautiful silk and rhinestone white flower. Stars twinkled all around her.

Actually, she wasn't standing atop the set. She was standing on a tiny step at the top of a long, spiraling staircase that was painted the same shade of midnight blue, with tiny twinkling lights on the edges to alert her to where the next step was. The addition of the lights on the steps were a "suggestion" from Stephen to the producers after she'd complained to him about not being able to see the steps when the stage lights were on; MJ did not even want to know which one of the producers he'd scared half to death to get the man to put the lights there, but suddenly in rehearsal one day, there they were, with the director questioning their presence and the producers explaining that they didn't want an insurance issue with an unsafe stage set. Peter had helped her figure out how to properly balance on the steps as well, and she'd practiced the maneuvers enough to hopefully be able to execute them tonight in front of an opening night audience.

The orchestra started playing, and Mary Jane took a deep breath and steadied herself, then turned her gaze to the audience and began singing.

_They say that falling in love is wonderful,_

_Wonderful, so they say._

The walk down the staircase was long, and some of her fears came back to her.

Then she located Peter in the front row with her eyes and steadied herself again, looking at him lovingly as she continued her descent.

_And with a moon up above it's wonderful,_

_Wonderful, so they tell me…_

As she reached the platform midway down the staircase, she noticed that Peter was mouthing the words along with her. How sweet.

She took a quick breath and then let her voice swell into the next lines.

_I can't recall who said it-- _

_I know I never read it--_

_I only know that falling in love is grand… _

She felt more confident now that she was on the platform, and hoped that she was projecting enough to be heard. Peter had more than once said that the acoustics in the place weren't the best, but she couldn't tell if that was just Peter the science geek talking or a warning that she needed to be singing louder. Hopefully it was just the former, because now the song was winding down into its quieter moments.

_And the thing that's known as romance is wonderful…_

_Wonderful in every way…_

_So they say._

* * *

Eager to get backstage to greet MJ, Peter made his way outside to the stage door, listening carefully to the audience's comments as he went.

"I liked it," one girl commented.

"It was…good," another agreed.

Peter was not fond of the lack of enthusiasm, but he attributed that to the extremely thin book that bound these old songs together. MJ had been fabulous, and that was all that mattered…to him, anyway.

Once outside, his spider-sense gave a light tingle. Hoping it was just a pickpocket nearby, Peter made sure to button his suit jacket and gave a look around…

…and saw Harry Osborn approaching a limousine.

Peter was stunned to see Harry back in town so soon; it was just a few months ago that Sarah Branson had found out where he was and what he was doing, and just days since The Shadow's network had confirmed that Harry had left Oxford and was on his way back to Manhattan. Peter was hoping against hope that Harry had given up this insane quest to avenge his father's death and had decided science was really not something he wanted to pursue, so he called out Harry's name.

Harry didn't turn around.

Peter called him again, knowing Harry had heard him and, reading cues from the other man's body language, was now merely ignoring him.

Harry put his hand on the open door of his limousine and turned to face Peter.

The two men stared at each other for a long moment--Harry's gaze cold and angry, Peter's hopeful yet frustrated.

"Harry, we need to talk," Peter began. "You need to let me explain. You need to hear the truth."

Harry wanted to laugh in Peter's face. He also wanted to slit the bastard's throat. Instead, he did neither. "Tell it to my father," he said instead. "Go raise him from the dead and explain it to _him_." He climbed into the back of the limo.

"Harry, I loved your father," Peter said mournfully. That part was true, as bizarre as it sounded--bioengineer and aeronautic specialist Dr. Norman Osborn had been a great inspiration to young science geek Peter Parker and had treated him quite well indeed. Of course, Norman's alter ego, The Green Goblin, had also spent much of his time trying to kill Peter's alter ego as well, but there was no sense in rehashing _that_ right now if Harry wasn't even going to give him the time of day.

Harry's driver closed the door to the limo, gave Peter a pitying glance--as if in recognition that his employer had indeed gone off the deep end and now there was no reasoning with the man--and dutifully drove the limousine away.

Peter gave a hard sigh in frustration.

"_**You never know who'll you'll run into at these things,**_" a familiar voice said inside his ears.

Peter turned around and was grateful to see Stephen and Sarah approaching. "I didn't even see you guys," he said with a smile. "Where were you?"

"In one of the private boxes," Stephen answered. "You had a great seat, though."

Peter laughed. "Yeah, front and center. I could spend the rest of my life watching her like that."

Sarah smiled. "Young love. How romantic."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's go tell the star how much we liked it."

Peter gestured with his head. "Follow me."

* * *

Backstage in her dressing room, MJ was downing a much-needed glass of water when she heard Peter call her name. She turned to see him giving her a "thumbs-up" and a goofy grin. She bounced up and down happily and ran toward him.

Peter met her in front of the dressing room door and gave her a tight hug, lifting her off the floor and spinning her around happily. "Congratulations!"

It took her a second to get her bearings back as he set her down--Peter was so excited he'd put spider-strength into that spin that was way too fast for a mere mortal--and put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. "Was I good?"

"Good?" Peter said incredulously. "You were great! You were…" He was trying frantically to come up with a word that could encompass his feelings for her that didn't come out like _awesomefantasticwickedamazingwowwhatahotbabeyouare_.

"You said 'great'," MJ reminded him, as if she were afraid he was going to lower his rating. Then she noticed his companions. "You made it!" she said excitedly, giving Sarah an air kiss and Stephen a full-on hug.

Stephen let her go, not wanting to give Peter any reason to question her enthusiasm. "Congratulations, gorgeous," he said with a smile.

"You were so good," Sarah added.

"She was _great_," Peter corrected, somewhat offended that Sarah wouldn't pick a high enough compliment to ease MJ's fears.

MJ gestured for them all to come into her dressing room.

"Wow, your own dressing room," Sarah remarked. "How cool is _that_?"

"I know--isn't it?" MJ replied with a giggle. Then she gestured at the small glass sphere on her makeup table, filled with her favorite spring flowers. "The flowers are beautiful, Peter." She pointed to another arrangement. "And Stephen, thanks so much for these."

Peter noticed that Stephen's bouquet was essentially a larger version of his own, in an elegant lead crystal vase. _Well, he's a gazillionaire; he can afford such things,_ he thought wryly. Then, he noticed the other bouquet.

It would have been hard to miss. The thing was three times the size of Stephen's, and wouldn't have looked out of place as a casket spread at a funeral. _Must be from Harry,_ he thought, trying not to let that thought piss him off in the light of their encounter earlier.

"These are from Harry," MJ confirmed, almost as if she were ashamed to admit such.

Peter tried not to react. _Figures. Next she'll say she saw him in the audience and was singing to him, too._

"I didn't see him in the audience," she said, confirming that she had at least looked for him. "Was he here?"

"He was in a box across the way," Stephen said. "Has he..." Stephen then stopped himself from speaking aloud for the moment as he gazed at the mass of flowers Harry had sent, looking for anything that might be out of place. "...approached you?" he finally said to finish the out-loud query.

Peter blinked and looked over. Stephen was studying the flowers from Harry with the intensity of The Shadow looking for hidden microphones, but hadn't resorted to thought-speech to complete the question. Nobody in the room could thought-speak in return, of course, but that had never stopped Stephen before; if he really wanted an answer to an unspoken question, he could just force his way into somebody's brain and get that answer. This wasn't The Shadow checking out what could be a dangerous delivery. It was almost as if Stephen Cranston was jealous that he'd been one-upped by another man.

"No." MJ said. "He might call later."

"Was that the note he left on the bouquet card?" Sarah responded, her tone sarcastic.

MJ gave a "Sh-h" that almost sounded like a serpent's warning #hiss# in response.

Peter turned to the bouquet and finally noticed the same thing Stephen had likely been searching for: The cardholder on the gigantic spread, which was empty. So while Stephen and MJ might have something going on, Harry Osborn had come back into town and made his first attack on Spider-Man by sending Mary Jane Watson a floral shop and a promise to call, _and_ MJ had actually been looking for him in the audience, which put a damper on the feelings he'd had about watching her singing to him. After all, it wasn't like MJ didn't know that Harry blamed Peter for Norman's death and had sworn to kill him. Loyalty would have been nice.

And then Peter saw the embarrassment on MJ's face from having the contents of Harry's card found out, and he began to calm down. After all, MJ was the kind of person who had learned from life with her alcoholic father that sometimes, in order to appease a monster, you had to forget what made him so monstrous in the first place. Besides, he'd won the war for MJ's hand, and that was all that really mattered.

Sure enough, MJ was now back to begging for affirmation from the loved ones in her life as she turned to Peter and gripped his hands tightly. "Was I really great? I was so scared…my knees were shaking."

"Your knees were fine," Peter reassured.

"And you looked fantastic," Stephen interjected.

"And you're a _lot_ braver than I am," Sarah added, "because I just know I'd have taken a full header off of that staircase and ended up in the orchestra pit."

"Thanks." Then worry crossed MJ's face. "The applause wasn't very loud."

No, it hadn't been; Peter had more than once during the performance cursed the sound engineer for how badly the stage mikes had been placed, because he knew how bad the acoustics were and the lack of microphones near the top of the stage where MJ started her performance made her voice sound thin and reedy. But rather than blame the sound engineer for the lack of applause, he decided to try an alternate explanation. "It was fine," he said. "It's the acoustics. It's all about diffusion, which keeps sound waves from grouping, and flutter and nulls and hot spots…"

"You are _such_ a nerd," MJ said with a laugh.

Peter smiled. Even an insult sounded great from her lips.

"Come on, sweetheart," Sarah said to Stephen. "Let's leave these kids alone."

Stephen grimaced at the endearment/insult, then gave Peter a handshake and pat on the back and MJ a quick hug. "Congratulations," he said. "Now, go out and celebrate."

"Thanks for the permission," Peter said wryly.

Stephen and Sarah gave them both a salute and left.

MJ turned her attention back to Peter and was practically bouncing with happiness. "You heard the man," she said. "Let's go celebrate!"

Time alone with MJ was celebration enough for him, Peter decided. "Get changed." He whispered in her ear. "And meet me on the roof."

MJ shivered.

* * *

"Coffee?" Stephen offered.

"That'd be nice," Sarah agreed.

Stephen snapped his fingers, and seemingly out of nowhere his limo pulled up to the curb. The driver was soon out and opening the door, while Stephen offered his hand to assist Sarah in climbing in the luxurious automobile's rear compartment.

"It's Harry, isn't it?" she asked suddenly as he joined her in the limo. "That's the mission you're training MJ for."

Stephen grimaced but gave a nod of agreement to keep her from exploring his connection with MJ too much. "One of them."

"And that's why it has to be secret. Because Peter would explode if he found out."

"Would you rather I asked you to do it, _sweetheart_?" Stephen repeated her endearment teasingly.

Sarah blushed. "I'm in there listening to those two writing their own Hallmark cards, secure in the knowledge that I've got news story notes waiting for me..."

"Getting lonely?"

"No, I'm too busy to be lonely." She suddenly realized what she said and grinned at him.

"Welcome to the club," Stephen grinned back. "That's what happens when you start doing well at your job. Come talk to me when you have no life at all."

"Well hold on, that's not fair. Peter and MJ are good at their jobs. They've got each other too."

"I give that another week at most before their façade collapses," Stephen stated firmly. "They're too busy right now to ask questions about where their relationship is really going." He glanced at the bucket that the driver had positioned in the rear compartment, filled with ice water and the most expensive champagne that actually tasted good. "Meanwhile, can I interest you in a glass of bubbly on the ride home?"

Sarah relaxed her own façade and smiled at Stephen. "I'd love one."

* * *

A half-hour later, Peter and MJ were in the Palisades, away from the city's bright lights, watching the stars from a gigantic spider web strung between two trees. The two of them were lying side-by-side in the makeshift hammock, arms behind their heads, enjoying Mother Nature's light show, made especially bright tonight by a meteor shower raining down on the city tonight.

"Wow," MJ said as one particularly bright one crossed their path.

"Did you see _that_ one?" Peter replied as another one flew through the midnight blue sky.

For a moment, they both lay quietly in the hammock, still watching the view. It was such a refreshing change of pace from what they'd been through over the past couple of years. MJ fingered the gold locket on her neck, a gift from Stephen to replace a less expensive one that Peter had given her. She'd felt horrible about breaking it during a runway show where she was constantly changing clothes backstage, getting it caught in a fancy dress during one hectic changeover, and Stephen had not only gone out and gotten a replacement, he'd upgraded it significantly to one of the new trendy Jennifer Meyer lockets that were so in demand in fashion these days. He'd even replaced the two tiny photos of Peter and MJ inside of it with identical photos printed on thin sheets of gold, carefully mounted inside. The fact that someone she'd once viewed with such distrust had done this for her and never asked for anything at all in return was helping her come to terms with how she viewed men in general. It had helped her feel less needy and clingy around Peter, and for that she'd be forever grateful.

Still, though, Peter tended to forget that MJ couldn't read his mind and couldn't hear his thoughts saying how much he loved her, even when it was clearly showing in his eyes, his touch, his actions. "You know," she said, trying to find a way to prompt him into a love expression, "I think I'd like to spend the rest of my life singing onstage, with you in the front row."

He turned his head toward her and smiled. "I'll be there," he promised.

She felt the warmth he was expressing, but it still wasn't quite enough. So, she tried again. "Tell me again how much you love me."

He turned his whole body toward her this time. "I love you…so very much."

MJ smiled broadly. She really needed to hear that.

Peter put his hand behind her head and held it gently as he moved in for a kiss.

The two of them locked lips and embraced each other, completely oblivious to the world around them…

* * *

What had at one point been Norman Osborn's secret stash of Goblin uniform parts, glider pieces, and pumpkin bombs inside the catacombs of Osborn House was now Harry Osborn's secret laboratory. Harry had put his Oxford training to good use, turning the pieces of his father's glider into a much more streamlined flying machine, a snowboard-type platform he'd dubbed the Sky Stick. The device was half the size of his father's vehicle but a lot more powerful, with even stronger weaponry built into it, with pods of pumpkin bombs accessible through foot pedal switches as he flew along. He'd also spent a lot of time tailoring the goblin armor for himself, since he was much taller than his father. While he was at it, he made it a darker shade of green to look more menacing --green was still cool, but not dayglo Power Ranger green.

But the piece of equipment that had taken the most time to build was the gas chamber.

Most of Mendel Stromm's notes were destroyed when the original machine itself was destroyed, and Harry had been forced to dig through old archive files and half-finished templates to create a machine capable of delivering the Performance Enhancement compound in vapor form. He'd had to find a new catalyzing agent as well, because the older one his father used wasn't even manufactured any more. And he had to make darn sure it was something he could operate by himself, because no one could know what he was doing.

Science still sucked, he decided. But it could sometimes produce worthwhile things.

* * *

Peter held MJ close as he lowered the two of them on a web line. It was late, he had a class in the morning, and MJ was looking very sleepy. He carried her over to the edge of the park fountain, and pulled out his mask.

MJ watched with dreamy love as the love of her life transformed into her first great crush, and remembered how lucky she was that he was both at once.

Spiderman quickly stuffed his alter-ego's clothing into a web-pack, and handed it to her.

She giggled as she put it on. The webbing was tacky, but not sticky enough to bother her, and as she wrapped herself around his back, she shivered in excitement. Web-swinging was something unique to him, and she was the only person who he shared it with…at least while not saving lives.

"Ready?" Spiderman called behind him.

MJ threw her arms tighter around his waist in reply. God, she was perfect.

* * *

"So, how do we tell her she was awful?"

Stephen looked over at Sarah as they sipped champagne in the backseat of the Cranston limo. "_I'm_ not going to tell her," Stephen replied. "_I_ don't have a death wish."

"You that afraid of her?" Sarah teased.

"No, but her boyfriend packs a mean punch," Stephen replied, offering Sarah a refill, which she waved off.

"Yeah, there is that," Sarah remarked. "Still, though…sometimes the truth hurts."

Stephen sighed. "That it does." He shook his head. "I was really hoping she'd be better than I'd heard. I'd caught parts of three rehearsals and knew the sound setup wasn't doing her any favors. She's not a bad singer, but she's not an unmiked Broadway star, either. More nightclub than Broadway."

Sarah closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the soft cushions of her seat. She gave a light smile. "Hope the coming bad reviews don't foil Peter's plans too much."

Stephen looked over at her. "What do you mean?"

"You're not the only one with secrets."

"You _are_ a clairvoyant peeping tom! " Stephen accused.

"Not really. I try not to. It's just sometimes...I think about someone, and my mind answers me, lets me see."

"Ah." Stephen topped off his glass of champagne and leaned back in his seat.

That casual answer was not what Sarah had been looking for. "Stephen...you _are_ going to teach me how to control it, right?"

Stephen didn't answer right away, which made Sarah upset. "I don't want to be a peeping tom, because I see more bad things than good things!" she protested. "I need your help!"

"I know," Stephen answered. "Marpa Tulku reminded me that lessons accompany need. Genuine need. Need that is so intense that nothing else will suffice. When it's time, I will teach you. Trust me."

And as if on cue, his ring started flashing. "Duty calls," he noted, finishing his champagne quickly. "I'll have my limo driver run you home."

Sarah started to question how Stephen was going to get to the Sanctum unnoticed when she saw a familiar black and yellow taxi pull up next to them at the traffic light. She patted his shoulder. "Be careful."

He gave a mysterious smile. "Always." He opened the door, and suddenly turned back. "Um...if it's not too late..."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I'm pretty sure what this is," Stephen said, gesturing at his ring. "It'll probably be about Harry's arrival...so, if you wanted to meet at the Manor in an hour or two, we could have a nightcap..."

Sarah felt her heart rate speed up suddenly. "That would be nice."

"Nice." Stephen repeated, as if trying the word out. Sarah knew what an effort he was making, offering even that much while The Shadow's ring was still demanding his attention. 'Nice' wasn't what he was looking for.

Sarah licked her lips. "We could...I have some work to do on a story, but if you didn't mind that..."

Stephen felt a hint of relief. She was giving him a way out. "I could help you out with that, or with other things..."

Sarah smiled. "See you in an hour?"

Stephen gave a nod, then climbed into Moe's cab and sped away.

Sarah settled into the limo as it took her to his home.

* * *

May Parker hurried to open her apartment door as she heard Peter knocking. What could have possessed him to come all the way to Queens at _this_ hour? _Someone I know had better be dying,_ May thought to herself, then dismissed that thought and opened the door.

Peter stood there, looking happier than she'd ever seen him. "I'm going to ask MJ to marry me," he said, getting it out in the open before he lost the nerve to actually execute his fondest wish.

May's face burst into a joyous smile and she threw her arms around him, aggravation forgotten.

* * *

Several blocks away from May Parker's small apartment building, the chief occupant of Osborn House was also up and about, preparing the things necessary to execute his own fondest wish.

And, at that moment, emerging from a reborn design of a long dead genius, given life again by the will of a far more powerful man, was the second generation of performance-enhanced Osborn's, as Harry had now stepped out of the gas chamber, feeling his muscles changing to steel-hard cables and plates, forming their own armor around his body.

Harry gave a nod to himself in satisfaction, then stepped off the platform. Now, he was ready.

* * *

End Chapter One


	2. Plans in Motion

**The Darkness Within**

A _Shadow/Spider-Man_ Crossover by Stephensmat and Scarlet

**Part Two**

(_**The Story So Far:**__ Peter Parker, Stephen Cranston, and Sarah Branson prepare to go to Mary Jane Watson's debut as a lead in a Broadway musical, __Manhattan Memories__. Sarah finally confronts Stephen with her knowledge that he's been "seeing [Peter's] girlfriend", and Stephen admits she is being prepared for a deep cover assignment. The two of them notice Harry Osborn is in attendance at Opening Night, and discover backstage that he's sent her a huge bouquet of flowers that wouldn't look out of place as a spray on a casket. Peter feels jealousy that MJ would even accept the flowers, but gets over it as they go on a date afterwards, lounging in a web hammock during a meteor shower. Meanwhile, Stephen and Sarah take steps toward repairing their own damaged relationship, with Sarah begging Stephen to help her take control over her clairvoyance and Stephen promising to do so once her need for training "is so intense that nothing else will suffice" as the pair part company to complete business--The Shadow to get the latest briefings on Harry Osborn's return; Sarah's need to finish the review of __Manhattan Memories__ for the __Classic__--and agree to rendezvous in an hour at Cranston Manor. As the evening unfolds, Peter takes MJ back to her condo, then heads across town to his aunt's apartment in Queens; while in another part of Queens, Harry Osborn completes his transformation from weakling drunkard to worthy successor--in every way--to his father's legacy as the Green Goblin…)

* * *

  
_

May Parker had spent the last 90 seconds in the kitchen, puttering about, trying to find something to serve her nephew on this momentous occasion, listening to Peter's description of MJ and her play, watching the meteor shower with MJ, riding on the moped with MJ, MJ, MJ, all things MJ. At least the two kids were both finally admitting they were in love, which was a step forward. But marriage…that was different. Peter did at one point have a very steady job, but now that he was back in college, who knew whether he'd ever get a job like that again? And MJ was an actress, not the steadiest of professions to begin with. She wondered if Peter had discussed any of this with his benefactor, Stephen Cranston, since it was Stephen who had gotten Peter his last good job and Stephen who was guaranteeing Peter a place to live and Stephen who was paying for Peter's grad school.

May had become fond of young Stephen--she still thought of him as "young" even though he was older than Peter--and had occasionally been squired on evenings out by his late uncle Victor, though nothing ever became of it. She'd gotten a laugh out a story Victor told about the Cranstons, Parkers, and Watsons being intertwined, as apparently Victor's father had dated MJ's aunt when Anna Watson was just a teen; when Victor died, she'd sent Stephen a plate of cookies and a note expressing her sorrow, something she'd never told Peter since she wasn't sure Peter was really ready to accept that May Parker was no longer a grieving widow trapped in stasis since her husband's death. She knew that Peter was dealing with his own life changes, and eventually everything would get settled. It always did, somehow.

Peter had finally stopped talking and was now sitting at the breakfast bar in May's apartment looking nervous, as if he expected a lecture about responsibility, good jobs, security, money, etc. When she was a young woman, her parents gave her that lecture. And she hated it. So she decided not to give it to Peter at that moment. But there was one aspect of it that she did need to inform him about. She took a moment to formulate her words as the teakettle whistled on the stove. "You know, when your uncle Ben and I were moving toward the notion of sharing our lives together," she began, "we were both excited and scared…and _very_ young. And I loved him _fiercely_. So, he asked me to marry him."

"And you said 'yes'," Peter assumed.

"No." May filled the teapot with a tea strainer full of leaves and poured hot water from the kettle over them. "I wanted to, but I said 'no'. I wasn't ready. And neither was he." She set out teacups for the two of them. "We took our time. Looked forward to it." She poured tea, then looked at Peter. "A man has to be understanding, and put his wife before _everything_…even himself. Can you do that, Peter?"

To this day, Peter still wondered whether Aunt May knew the truth about his other life. She always seemed to tap-dance around it, making comments about "being a hero" or "being the best you can be" or things like that. Someday, he'd have to ask the question directly. But now, he needed to be cool and give the answer Aunt May wanted to hear. "Yes," he said. "I think I can."

That was apparently all May needed to hear. "Then you have my blessing." She took Peter's face in her hands and kissed his forehead.

Peter let out a sigh of relief that he didn't realize he'd been holding in.

"Now," May continued, piling cookies onto a china plate, "I hope you've considered a _proper_ proposal."

Peter found her emphasis on the word "proper" amusing. _Actually, I was going to write it between skyscrapers in big webbed letters, Aunt May, but by all means, __please__ suggest something else, as I am easily the most socially inept person in the city._

"Wherever you do it," May counseled, "do it in a place that has meaning for both of you. Your Uncle Ben did it on an island we both loved. We swam out to that island. It was such a glorious sunny day, and he'd been out there earlier to lay out a picnic. He was so handsome in that bathing suit." She took a breath--almost a gasp--before continuing. "He knew just how to make a girl feel loved. And then, he gave me this." She worked carefully to remove the ring from her left ring finger. "It wasn't much of a thing--both of us were poor as churchmice--but it shone like the summer sun. And when he put it on my ring finger, I had never felt so special." Her voice was quavering, but she kept a smile on her face. "So, wherever you decide to do it, make it special. Make the place have meaning. And…" She took Peter's left hand and put it on his palm, then closed his fingers around it. "…give her this."

Peter started to protest, then saw the determination in May Reilly Parker's eyes. At that moment, he knew _any_ proposal he gave as long as he used this ring would be the _proper_ one.

Aunt and Nephew enjoyed a calm embrace of love they hadn't shown each other in years.

* * *

Leaving Aunt May's place, Peter had planned it over four hundred times in his head. _MJ, will you marry me? Marry me Mary Jane? Miss Watson, make me the happiest man in the world, and be my wife..._

In public, in private, down on one knee, on top of the New York skyline, as Peter, as Spiderman...

Peter could see where this would require some careful thought.

But there was one thing he knew. He wanted it to be perfect.

So he would get some backup. Someone covert, someone trustworthy. And there was only one name on that list.

Peter pulled out his cell and speed-dialed Stephen.

"Stephen Cranston," A familiar gruff voice answered the phone. "Chloe, if this is you, I already signed the damn-"

"It's me," Peter interrupted.

Stephen sighed. "I'm starting to be afraid of my assistant."

"Well, that's where you just start to become sad. A little amusing, but mostly sad."

"True enough. So, what can I do for you?"

"I need your help with something."

"Personal or business?"

"Personal."

"Can it wait for a few hours? I'm about to meet someone."

"Who?"

"Sarah." Stephen was trying very hard to sound casual. "She's bringing some story notes over."

He almost succeeded. "You're helping Sarah with a story," Peter's more cynical side questioned, as if he didn't quite buy it.

"No, she's bringing the notes over so that we can have a nightcap and not feel like idiots."

Ordinarily, Peter would have started making jokes, but there were three or more serious things on his mind. Not the least of which was the fact that things had been a little tense between members of the team lately. "I see. So there's been some…encouraging movement on that then?"

"Turns out we missed each other too much to stay in the same room and not talk. The ice has thawed," Stephen said, happier than he would have usually let on. "What comes next, I honestly couldn't tell you."

Peter smiled, happy for his friends. "I was worried about you guys for a while there. I thought maybe there'd just been too much...well...too much."

"The thought had occurred to me about you and MJ."

"Yeah?"

"Life's thrown you two some curves," Stephen said quietly. "We've all been kinda out of control lately."

"MJ and I talked about that."

"And?"

"We knew going in there'd be absolutely insane things. Things that normal couples don't have to deal with. I think what gave us the trouble was, that we were scared we were losing each other."

Stephen privately thought that Peter was being far too simplistic about it. "Are you?"

"Well, I figure when things seem to be in danger, that's the time for bold. That's when you make the big gesture, grab on tight to what you care about. If you let things settle too long, sometimes they slip away, and I really don't want MJ to slip away from me."

"So what will you do?"

"Well," Peter asked quietly, "that's what I needed to talk to you about. I need a favor."

"Name it."

"Can..." Peter swallowed. _Point of no return Parker!_ "Can you possibly find out MJ's ring size without her knowing it?"

The phone line went silent on both sides for a moment. "Her _ring_ size?" Stephen asked.

"Um…yeah."

"O.K., then," Stephen finally said. "Come by tonight and join us for a nightcap. We have to sort some things out. Make some plans."

Peter grinned. "What about Sarah?"

"Oh, I think we'll want to recruit her. If only to keep her from telling MJ."

Peter grinned. "I'm on my way."

* * *

Stephen disconnected the call and got out of the cab, heading into the manor and handing his coat and hat to Andrew. "Where's Miss Branson?" he asked.

"Upstairs in the study," Andrew answered.

Stephen gave a nod of thanks and ascended the stairs.

He was two steps away when Sarah opened the door to the Manor study, having sensed him coming. The look on Stephen's face made her pause in the doorway. "Stephen?"

He looked at her. "Peter's going to ask MJ to marry him."

* * *

Peter just couldn't let go of the ring. It was like a magic talisman, which would decide his future happiness. As long as he held it, all was well. As long as he had it, nothing could possibly bring him down. As long as he held it, he was defying gravity, and not even his spider-sense going off...

Going off really _really __loudly_...

At that moment, he heard it, the familiar sound a low jet turbine...

He spun to look, and was suddenly airborne.

_Goblin!_ Peter thought, and slipped unconsciously into the plans he had worked out with Stephen, in case Norman Osborn had survived. Get his shoulder, get behind him, get a grip on the board, and toss him off.

But Goblin had read that play, and had already tossed Peter well clear, out into open air.

Peter twisted in the air and managed to snag him before he was thrown too far. Peter planted his feet on the glider, and started throwing punches. _Oh man, I hope nobody can see my face._

The Goblin had prepared for a Spiderman fight, and had taken Peter up above the rooftops, nowhere to hide in the open air. Once there, he started fighting back, slamming the armoured mask into Peter's exposed face; a daring move, but good in close quarters. The next punch was blocked, so Goblin snaked a hand quickly around Peter's throat, and a trio of wickedly curved blades suddenly extended from Goblin's forearm, and slashed down at Peter's stomach.

Peter howled and fought his way clear, jumping out into space. He was still above most of the buildings, but not all of them

Peter didn't try for the rooftops, aiming higher, firing a web from his wrist, catching the top of a flagpole. His momentum put him into a loop around the flag, bringing him around behind the Goblin, and Peter started firing impact webbing as fast as he could, silently thanking the mutation that gave him natural spinnerets.

* * *

"Peter is going to ask MJ to marry him," Sarah repeated stupidly.

Stephen wasn't helping her sense of reality at all, with a grin so wide, it threatened to leave his face. "Oh, yes," he confirmed as he came into the study and poured himself a much-needed cognac.

"Peter. Is. Proposing. To. MJ." Sarah couldn't quite get her brain wrapped around the concept yet.

"That he is," Stephen nodded happily.

"Does he know we know this?" Sarah pressed.

"He's recruiting us. Well, _me_, but I'm recruiting you. Our mission is to find out MJ's ring size." He suddenly remembered who he was talking to. "You..._can_ keep a secret, yes?"

"Well, I'm usually pretty good till I meet someone."

"Sarah."

"Well, only as long as you can."

"Sarah."

"My lips are sealed," Sarah promised. "But…"

'But what?"

"Do you think she'll say yes? I mean, let's face it, it hasn't been smooth sailing for any of us lately."

"I know." Stephen agreed. "But I think she will. "She's the type that needs something concrete before she can trust it. She's kinda needy that way."

"You think so?"

"I gave her an assignment and she called me four times a day asking for a hint." Stephen pointed out. "Doesn't matter in this case. Might actually be an advantage, but Peter adores her like a work of art he's scared to touch, and given her history it's not such a bad thing to feel adored."

"Her history?"

Stephen suddenly realized she didn't know and stonewalled his face.

"Am I being kept out of something?" Sarah asked pointedly.

"Sarah, I trust you with my secrets and my life. Other people's secrets…well, that's up to them. Usually. Most of the time. When it suits me."

Sarah smirked lightly. "I can't press MJ for details without revealing this conversation, which I can't do without blowing Peter's surprise."

Stephen stonewall melted into a grin. "Golly, what's a girl to do?"

Sarah nodded respect to the devious trick, and the room fell quiet for a moment.

Sarah suddenly was all smiles. "They're getting _married_!" she said excitedly.

Stephen was equally excited. "Our kids are all grown up!"

Sarah burst into happy giggles. "We need something. Champagne. Cigars."

"Cigars! I have cigars, absolutely, let us celebrate!" Stephen agreed. He flung open the floor-to-ceiling drapes in the room. "Wonderful view, gorgeous moonlight, cigars, and libations of your choice."

"I think Dominican cigars and French cognac would be an excellent combination." Sarah beamed jovially. "It's been a good night."

* * *

The fight would have been evenly matched, but the Goblin was fighting smart. He knew that Peter could rally a good series of punches, so he never gave up a chance. He came from every angle, giving glancing blows. The blows lacked power, but had speed, spinning Peter around and sending him glancing in a new direction with every hit.

Peter fought to keep his equilibrium, but every time he started to get some idea of direction, he couldn't get any direction without firing a webline, and his foe never let him have enough time.

_Never let them trap you._ Stephen had once said. Goblin must have heard him. He had Peter neatly trapped in midair; he had no control over his direction.

Finally, Peter managed to fire a web into the glider itself, and Goblin flew in a short fast loop to throw him off, sending the unmasked Spiderman butt-first into a brickwall, where he smashed his way through, hard enough to stick there.

The Enemy came to a hover, about ten feet out from the wall that Peter was buried halfway into, looking the battered young man in the eye.

Peter seethed, as the same four questions of every Superhero ran quickly through his head. _Where do people get these toys, where do the keep coming from, why do they always find me, and why oh why won't they just go the hell away?!_

On some level he already knew. But a part of him was still clinging to the optimism of only seven seconds ago.

It was wearing dark green armor and facemask. It wasn't a one piece and stylized mask like the Green Goblin, but a more refined set or armored plates over the chest and torso, and bladed gauntlets around the forearms, bound with material like Spiderman's own around the joints. The Goblin's armor, built for speed.

He was armed, some of the weapons slung around the waist, like the razorbats and pumpkin bombs, others were new, like the samurai sword strapped between his shoulder blades, made from crystal and steel, glowing pure Goblin Green.

The jet-powered glider he was standing on was a great deal narrower than the Goblin glider, more like a snowboard with glowing turbines under each foot. The way He rode it was like a surfer, using his weight to turn the jets in three dimensions. The Goblin Glider, rebuilt for agility, without losing any speed in turns.

It was Norman Osborn, if he had chosen his weapons, purely to hunt Spiderman.

It was Goblin Refined, Goblin Streamlined...

And then the facemask opened, and Peter knew it was going to be a long night. "Harry."

The younger Osborn, now past the point of discretion, beyond hesitation, glared across at him. "You knew this was coming, Peter."

The Sky Stick howled suddenly and Harry shot forward.

Peter back flipped up till he was crouched on the wall.

The jet-powered punch slammed Harry halfway through the brick. It was a very near blow, even with Peter's reaction times. And Harry hadn't even flinched from the impact.

They froze there. Peter upside down on the wall, not Spiderman. Harry buried up to his shoulder in a brick wall, balanced on a glider, not Goblin.

"I didn't kill your father!" Peter shouted, painfully aware that he could have said that sentence any one of a thousand times.

But he didn't, and Harry was beyond listening. The neo-Goblin swung up at him.

Peter quickly flipped lower, right side up, next to Harry so that they could speak face to face. "He was trying to kill me, he killed himself!" he continued, this time angrily.

"SHUT UP!" Harry roared and pulled at his arm.

His arm was too tightly stuck, so he tore the whole wall down...

…including the part that Peter was crouched on.

Peter played it as smart as he could, aiming low for the alleyways, letting the section of wall he was on carry him down quickly, scrambling over it like his namesake to stay on top.

The Goblin slammed down into the large section of wall like a missile, shattering it and bashing Peter hard across the back. It was personal now, it was real now. This was no longer surgical and clever. Tactics had been forgotten and Harry had his former friend by the ankle, slamming him with all the Goblin's speed into various walls and windows, before throwing Peter hard enough to put him through the side of a building and out the other side, glass and brick shattering under the force...

…when the world suddenly dropped into slow-motion.

Peter trusted his spider-sense from years of hard experience. When the world slowed down like this, there were only two possibilities, either he was about to die, or his spider-sense had transcended danger signals and moved onto hyper-reality.

The glass shards slowed to a halt, as did the spinning skyline, as did the Goblin...and the ring, freed from his pocket, and spiralling out into the night before his eyes.

And Peter suddenly forgot that the Goblin existed. He forgot that he wasn't masked. The ring! The ring was his magic talisman, which would decide his future happiness. As long as he held it, all was well. As long as he had it, nothing could possibly bring him down. As long as he held it, he was defying gravity, and not even his spider-sense going off...

Going off really _really_ _loudly_...

The world returned to normal, and Peter flashed out a hand to catch it with all his enhanced speed.

And Missed!

Peter's focus blazed. He was **not** going to lose that ring. That ring was his Aunt May's, given by Uncle Ben, destined for the hand of Mary Jane Parker! And nobody, not even Goblin, was going to change that.

He never took his eyes off the ring as it fell. He never took his eyes off the ring as he countered Goblin's next attack. He didn't need his eyes to fight; he didn't need to see his target to fire a web, and one web-shot caught Harry in the face, covering his mask. Harry was so caught up in the hunt that he yanked the protective mask off, without hesitation, eager to keep up the fight.

As Goblin was tossed back, Peter fired two weblines into the walls, on opposite sides of the street, and sent himself propelling down toward the ground, toward the Ring.

He heard the turbine. He should have pushed the fight while on the winning side, he knew, but he couldn't really focus on something as trivial as a super villain coming back from the dead and trying to kill him while his identity was open for all to see as significant parts of buildings were torn apart around him.

He stretched a hand as far as he could, heard the turbines roar closer, and just as his fingers brushed metal, an armoured blow caught him around the waist and put him into the sky again...

He was sent rolling through the air, then rolling across a rooftop, unsure if he'd made it...

And the ring was in his hand.

Peter smiled in victory. The ring was his magic talisman, which would decide his future happiness. As long as he held it, all was well. As long as he had it, nothing could possibly bring him down. As long as he held it, he was defying gravity, and not even his spider-sense going off...

Going off really _really_ _loudly_...

Peter felt himself start to run, sprinting effortlessly across the rooftop, toward the end, where he leaped out into the night, shooting out a web.

_All right._ Peter thought viciously. _NOW we can fight!_

Peter swung hard and fast, remembering everything he knew about fighting Goblins. He headed straight for a seeming brick wall, trusting his instincts to guide him, ducking into the four feet space between the two buildings. Threading a needle was hard at any speed, for the Goblin's glider, it should have been impossible.

Harry didn't hesitate, turning his board sideways, not even slowing down, the new Sky Stick able to move forward even on end. Various pipes and air-conditioners were shared between the two buildings, and Harry swooped up and down to dodge the obstacle course.

The speed they were travelling, all Peter had to do was lose momentum for a second, and Harry's edged glider would cut him in half.

Harry knew this. "I'M STILL HERE, PARKER!" he screamed ahead to his prey.

Peter forced himself not to lose momentum. Swinging required timing, which adrenaline could screw up, but as Harry drew that green sword and started slashing, Peter started to rush.

A trio of pipes came up, spaced so as to make swinging or dodging impossible. Peter caught the first one and threw himself much higher.

Harry matched the move by leaping in a twenty foot arc from his board, coming down at Peter with the sword.

Peter was able to knock the sword away, and Harry forced himself to go for his glider instead of his target.

Peter was still at a disadvantage, his webs putting him in constant arcs, up and down. Peter used every trick he knew to gain speed, but knew sooner or later the alley would run out.

Harry was not content to wait however, and suddenly had a fistful of bladed weaponry. He threw them fast, and the explosives splintered into a quartet of razorbats.

Peter couldn't exactly place why, but for a second, if felt like the flying knives remembered him, eager for his blood. "Hate those things." Peter released his webline, and spun in midair, still moving forward, to face the incoming missiles, firing his weblines quickly. The web stretched, until it propelled him back the way he came.

The razorbats sliced at him going past, before having to double back to catch up.

Harry also had to duck before being knocked off his Glider, and needed to dodge his own weaponry, knocking two of them down before getting one buried blade deep in his shoulder. Harry barely growled and yanked it back out, going into a hard loop, to take up the chase. He poured on the speed a little faster, and drew his sword, slashing high, then low, trying to catch Peter as he came up and down on the end of a web.

Peter sun in the air to fire webshot at the chasing bats. Three were knocked down. Peter snared one of the last two in a webline, and sling-shot it back at the last.

They collided on impact, and Harry covered his exposed face just long enough to roar through the flames.

The second of blindness cost him, and Harry was suddenly clothes-lined off his glider by the throat, at the edge of a web that Peter had spun across the alley.

Out of control, Harry fell, brutally hitting his unprotected head on the edge of a steel balcony, enough to flip him over again, and he smashed into the concrete, face first.

He did not get up.

Peter was breathing hard from the chase and was waiting for Harry to revive and pounce once more…and suddenly realized that Harry wasn't even twitching. "Harry?" he called.

He dropped to the ground, open to his Spider-sense, just in case it was a trap.

It wasn't.

* * *

The Cranston Manor Study had the best view of the city through the bay windows. For this reason, the desk was set so that those seated could have their back to the wall, and the chairs were laid out so that those seated could admire the view. The end table between the chairs had a small wetbar, and a cigar humidor.

Stephen had taken the seat to the left on the couch after lighting up the two finest cigars he had, and pouring two snifters of cognac, expecting Sarah to take the armchair.

Sarah hesitated, then calmly set herself down on the couch next to Stephen, blatantly daring him to comment.

Stephen was feeling far too mellow to push her away, deciding to just lean back and take in the view with her. It was one of the most peaceful moments in recent memory.

Sarah was the first to break the silence. "You ever think about it?"

"What?" Stephen asked. "Marriage?"

"Yeah."

If Peter had been there, Stephen would have put his foot down to avoid sarcastic remarks, but with the mood so relaxed for once, Stephen was completely at ease with the question. "No. I'm not made for that kind of normal. Can you see me with a family?"

"Yeah," Sarah said simply.

Stephen blinked in surprise. "Really?"

Sarah nodded "I think you'd be good at it. Marriage, kids."

Stephen considered that. "Peter and I talked about it once, when we realized MJ wasn't going away."

Sarah had never heard this before. "What did you decide?" she asked, a little more interested than she should have been.

Stephen shrugged. "Well...first of all, we don't know that Peter could have kids. Who knows what's floating around in his genes? Kid could be born with eight legs."

Sarah shivered without too much worry. "Creepy."

Stephen toasted his family portrait. "And me, well, we know how my kids would turn out. Khan would go ballistic when he heard the news."

Sarah smiled warmly. Normally, the mere mention of Khan's name would sent Stephen into a froth and her into shivers, but tonight, the mood was just too...cozy. "He'd send you a box of exploding cigars."

The Shadow's laugh rang out. "Yeah. Peter's a far braver man than I am."

"You think so?"

"I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop."

The pair each puffed their cigars for a while, sipping cognac between puffs, until finally Stephen had to reach over to the wetbar table and pour them each another brandy. "How about you?"

Sarah glanced away from the skyline. "Me?"

Stephen nodded. "You're in this life, too, I figure you must have thought about it."

Sarah took a puff of her cigar and shrugged. "How would I explain about the Shadow to any of my dates? 'I love you but I can't tell you where I've been all night.'"

Stephen nodded with empathy. "Been there."

Sarah tapped her forehead. "For that matter, how would I explain to my date about you? 'Sorry sweetie, I have a headache. No, I don't want an aspirin, but could you call Stephen Cranston for me? He always helps.'"

Stephen laughed loud and long. "You'll need a date for the wedding. MJ'll probably make you the maid of honor."

Sarah nodded. "Peter'll make you the best man. You realize, of course, that we are required by law to hook up at the reception."

Stephen leaned back in his chair, more comfortable than he'd been in years. "At least you won't have to explain to your date about The Shadow."

Sarah set down her cigar and snifter, and leaned against him. "Life is good." She whispered peacefully.

Stephen set down his cigar and leaned against her. "Really is." He couldn't help his sentimental side in that moment. "Y'know, the lives we live, all full of chaos and death...every now and then you actually get on top of it. You have people you love around you, you have a good grip on your life, you know you're going to be okay. For that one shining moment, you have peace."

Sarah smiled "You know something? I can't see you at peace."

"Oh?"

"I sometimes try to picture you sitting on a beach with nothing to do."

"And?"

Sarah still had her eyes closed as she gave a mischievous smirk. "The picture always ends with ninjas coming up out of the surf."

Sarah suddenly felt her world get shaken by a mocking laugh that seemed to come from inside her. "O.K., I admit it, chaos is my natural element," Stephen whispered.

"Are you really O.K. with this?" Sarah asked. "With Peter doing this, I mean? I can remember a time when you would have forbidden this sort of thing."

Stephen smiled back. "I always knew things would change. I figured Peter would have taken off by now actually. Never would have picked that he'd actually get together with the girl of his dreams and live happily ever after." Stephen let his mind relax for a moment as he reclined comfortably on the sofa. "He'll figure it all out. His brain doesn't run a gazillion miles an hour looking for trouble. Things are much simpler for him."

Sarah closed her eyes, breathing in deeply and slowly. "I can feel you."

Stephen found himself almost too mellow to care what that could mean. "Hm?"

Sarah didn't open her eyes as she gently rubbed her temples. "When you're close like this, I can feel you, like usual, but it's like you're everywhere, coming in from every direction."

Stephen put an arm around her, and she shifted into him, relaxing further still. "What does it feel like?" Stephen asked her. "I've never been good at sensing energies from other adepts that weren't hostile."

"It's...powerful. I've felt your mind coming at me in hostile ways before, but this is _so_ different. Like I'm being surrounded by your..._life_. Like there's energy in the air that I can wrap myself in, but it keeps moving like water. Like being wrapped in liquid light." She sighed, eyes still closed, and started breathing deeply, drinking in the feeling.

Stephen started breathing deeply too, and suddenly found himself caught up in the smell of her hair.

"S'nice." Sarah drawled finally.

"S'nice night." Stephen hummed, starting to relax into her energies as well, feeling surrounded by shifting mirrors and reflection pools.

Sarah smiled. "S'wonderful."

"S'marvellous."

Neither moved for several minutes of comfortable silence.

Sarah suddenly opened her eyes. "Peter's coming!"

Stephen sat up, dislodging them both. "Where?"

"Up the stairs…right…there!"

The door to the study opened and Peter came in at a quick stumble. His hair was mussed, his jacket was dusty, and done up too tightly; his face was dirty, and his expression shell-shocked.

But neither of them even noticed. Stephen jumped up, thrilled. "And there he is!"

Sarah jumped up with him, equally thrilled. "You! Get over here you! I'm gonna kiss you right on the mouth!"

Stephen gave Peter a pat on the back. "Peter, you've gotta let me buy you the ring!"

Peter gave his partner a hollow look. "Stephen..."

Stephen still wasn't listening, ecstatic for his friend. "No, of course, you've got a ring already. Tell you what, I'll buy her the dress. I'll pay for the wedding. I'll pay for the honeymoon. I'll buy you a private jet to take you to Hawaii. I'll buy you a cruise ship, you can take your time and enjoy yourself. I'll buy you Hawaii! You can name it after her!"

Sarah laughed. "MJ-Land!" She suggested.

"The United States of MJ!" Stephen countered happily.

"You are now landing in the city of Watsonville," Sarah laughed in a Stewardess voice. "Peter! Say something!" she implored the focus of their joy.

Peter finally spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone. "Harry Osborn just attacked me twenty minutes ago armed with Razorbats, a Goblin Glider and Green body armor, and I think I just killed him in an alley on the West Side."

"And just like that we're back at work," Stephen said without missing a beat. "Let's move."

And with that, both heroes had ducked out the door, before Sarah could even lose the grin she had mere moments ago.

"Other shoe dropped much faster this time," Sarah mumbled under her breath.

* * *

**End of Part Two**


	3. Still My Friend

**The Darkness Within**

A Shadow/Spider-Man Crossover by Stephensmat and Scarlet

**Part Three**

_(__**The Story So Far:**_ _Peter Parker, Stephen Cranston, and Sarah Branson attended Mary Jane Watson's debut as a lead in a Broadway musical, __Manhattan Memories__. The ice between Sarah and Stephen has started to thaw, but Sarah is still uneasy with Stephen spending so much time with MJ, and deliberately hiding their rendezvous from Peter. Harry Osborn, freshly back from Oxford, England, also attended the Opening Night performance, then transformed himself into another superpowered human and took on his father's role as the New Goblin. First target: Peter Parker, who is ready to propose to MJ using Aunt May's ring. The two of them battle it out in the skies and streets of Manhattan, and Peter gets the upper hand when he manages to clothesline Harry with a cable-thick web. But when Harry doesn't immediately wake up after a 40-foot fall where his head takes a hard bump, Peter becomes terrified of what he's done. Meanwhile, Stephen and Sarah relax in the upstairs study at Cranston Manor, awaiting the return of Peter to talk about his impending proposal to MJ. Sarah has noticed how much stronger Stephen's psyche is becoming as the two of them relax on the couch after the opening night, and their psyches are starting to blend when Peter bursts into the room and tells Stephen that Harry has taken on the role of the New Goblin, attacked him openly on the streets of Manhattan, and now he fears he may have killed Harry in a back alley. And just like that, everyone goes back to work, with Peter and Stephen out to check on Harry Osborn's vital stats…)_

* * *

Stephen wasted no time searching the body. "Armor's been upgraded. More functional. His father's had a degree of…theatricality."

Peter crouched spider-like over his fallen friend of long ago, and felt the same suffocating failure he had felt with his uncle Ben, with Norman…"What…what do we do with the body?"

Stephen wasn't listening; he instead focused on the sword, further down the alley, which he quickly snatched up. "Ooh, this is _nice_." He twirled the sword in his hands and cut through the air with it, feeling the weight and power in it.

Peter was sending his friend a glare.

"What?" Stephen asked defensively. "Spoils of war."

And suddenly, there came a death rattle, a sulphuric breath, and suddenly Harry Osborn lived.

"What the Hell?" Peter said, shocked.

Stephen dropped to one knee and checked vitals on both sides of the carotids. "He's got a pulse. Good one, too."

"How?" Peter demanded. "He was dead."

"You telling me you never checked Norman Osborn for a pulse?" Stephen pressed.

Peter suddenly understood, and started to pick Harry up.

"What are you doing?" Stephen demanded, afraid he already knew the answer.

"I have to get him to help," Peter answered, as if it weren't obvious.

Stephen blocked his partner's reach, trying to think of a way to say it. "He probably won't make it to a hospital. Whatever it was, it's what his father used to make him Green Goblin…and _that_ Goblin came back from the dead."

"We still need to get him to a hospital." Peter was barely listening.

"_**Damn it, Peter, just let him die!**_" The Shadow's voice ordered.

Peter whirled on him, eyes flashing.

Stephen didn't flinch, gesturing outward from the two of them to block off attention from passers-by. "It would solve every problem the Osborns have ever given you!" Stephen hissed. "He just tried to kill you; this was cold-blooded murder, Pete. You've saved his life before, he didn't care. He knows your name, and he made his choice!"

"He's my friend!"

"So was his father!"

Peter was fighting common sense for a reason he couldn't really explain. Whatever his father had been, Harry now was also. Harry _did_ know. He had to know what his father was, and he came hunting anyway. "Stephen, I cannot just let him die. It would be easier, but it's not what we do."

"It's not what _you_ do!" Stephen told him.

"I can't let him die while there's a chance my friend might live."

"Fine, let me take care of that." Stephen drew an automatic and aimed at Harry's head.

"NO!" Peter barked and moved without thought.

The gun went wide, firing an inch too far to the left, chunking part of the pavement next to Harry's motionless head.

For an electric moment, they were nose to nose, standing over their fallen enemy, glaring past the barrel of the huge silver gun.

"How does this end, Peter?" Stephen whispered. "See the endgame through. You pick him up, he lives, and he comes back to kill you again, you knock him down, save his life again, he comes back again to kill you…_How_ does this end, Peter?"

"We can make this right."

"He knows what his father was, Peter, this proves that. You saved him at the Octavius experiment; you saved him _from_ the Green Goblin…how are you going to make this right, Peter?"

"I don't know, but there are ways…"

"None that are certain to-"

"There. Are. Ways." Peter said, telling Stephen firmly.

Long silence, then Stephen shook his head. "I tried with his father, Peter, it worked itself out again. I cannot guarantee that it will work…"

"It's the only way."

"It is NOT the only way. It's not even a good way."

"It's the only way I'm willing to try," Peter said firmly. "Saving his life is still the best choice. On some level, he's still my friend."

Neither man spoke for what felt like an eternity.

"Write down the exact time and date you said that," Stephen said quietly. "Then get him to an ER, fast."

Peter gave a nod, then ripped the Goblin armor off of Harry's body, threw his friend over his shoulder, and started a web-slinging trip to St. Vincent's.

* * *

The journey to St. Vincent Hospital, the only Level One trauma center in the city, was a one-arm swing for Peter, which cost precious time and also caused other internal trauma that had cost Harry's returning strength, and Harry was in cardiac arrest again once Peter finally arrived in an alley near the hospital got to the ER. Peter spun a quick story--his friend was drunk and had crashed in bed at Peter's apartment, then wandered out of the building disoriented and got hit by a car, and Peter had managed to get a cab to take them to St. Vincent's, which was why Peter was carrying the body in his arms--and the triage nurses bought the story hook, line, and sinker, and before Peter knew it, Harry had been swept from his arms onto a gurney, rolled into Trauma One, and now some of the best trauma surgeons in America were frantically trying to get his heart to beat again.

Peter had watched through the small window in the door, feeling helpless. One thing that he kept hearing the doctors say was that his vital signs were all over the place--active and alive one moment, flatlined and nearly dead the next--and nobody could figure out why.

But Peter could. Against the wall, where nobody could see, was a shadow that nobody in the room was casting, and it was extending from a point near Harry's head. Stephen, disguised as a doctor just in case his mind-clouding spell failed, was digging deep into Harry's mind as he applied a skill first learned as a teen, a skill he'd become more precise at using through the years--the memory wipe. And from the looks of things on the monitors connected to Harry, it appeared that Stephen was not particularly interested in whether or not the newest incarnation of their shared enemy lived or died as a result.

* * *

Meanwhile, in another place in Queens, another battle between foes that culminated into a chase was going on.

Flint Marko, petty thief and recent escapee from Queensboro Correctional Facility, was running for his life. It wasn't a new feeling, but he never got used to it. Adrenaline and fear alike were pouring through his veins.

Dammit, why were they still chasing him? He didn't hurt anyone on his way out of prison! He just wanted to get home! His shrew of a wife Emma wouldn't want him, but his dying daughter Penny, the whole reason he'd gotten into crime in the first place, meant everything to him. He wanted to see her. He _needed_ to see her.

And now, after miles on foot, he'd finally figured out he had to get away from his pursuers if he hoped to have any chance to see her. He was exhausted. There were at least five men after him now. Five policemen after him now. _At least_ five policemen after him now, with their sirens, their badges, their guns, their high-intensity flashlights, their handcuffs…

…and their dogs.

In prison the prisoners talked about escape a lot. They talked about their various crimes a lot. They talked about their motives, their experiences, their tricks. Marko knew more about being a criminal after one week in jail than he did when he actually started committing crimes. Each new jail and each new situation was different, but one thing that never changed about being in prison: There was always a steady flow of trucks in and out of the facility. Marko's escape vehicle of choice had been the laundry truck.

The laundry truck had made it as far as the highway before the Prison had called it back. He managed to bail out of the truck and take off on foot before the truck got all the way back to the Correctional Facility. Some of the guards had been using the prison laundry to do their own clothes; against the rules. It was a lapse that had kept his jailers from studying the laundry bags too closely on the way out, and gave him a change of clothes when he started running.

But the dogs didn't care what he was wearing, and he'd been kind enough to leave his clothing behind for them to get his scent so they'd have something to chase.

One of the things Marko had learned was how to deal with the dogs. Put your back to the wall, force their heads back. Snap.

But when he hit the wire fence, and felt the dogs at his heels, he knew he couldn't do that. When he turned to see how close his pursuers were, and the dog jumped him, he caught the dog mid-leap, and slammed the mutt with one huge fist. The canine's falling body took out one of the other pursuing animals. Two down, but none dead.

It was a delay at best. Three more dogs and a whole team of policemen who weren't shy about taking him down painfully were still coming right behind him.

Ahead of him, though, was a possible escape route. Ahead of him was a huge fence that looked to be difficult for dogs to climb.

The fence said 'Danger! Do Not Pass!' and 'Particle Test Facility--Danger!'. And the fence had razor wire on top of it. The whole fence screamed "GO AWAY!"

_I'm not going back!_ Marko thought to himself wildly. _Penny! Get to Penny!_

Marko steeled himself and thought of Penny.

The rest was simple, and he scrambled over the fence.

The police made it to the fence only a few seconds later. Marko had vanished. They had seen him go over, but he was gone.

"Where'd he go?"

* * *

Marko never knew what happened. Between the darkness and the topography, he had never seen the ground vanish until he had stepped into open air. The ground had a small rise that hid the huge vacant drop.

Marko rolled until he hit sand, and fought to look up again. The pit he had fallen into was not a natural formation. Someone had dug it, lined it with concrete and steel, and filled the base of it with sand.

And overhead, were spotlights.

Marko shivered. He knew all about spotlights. They moved endlessly back and forth across the walls, the windows, the bars…

Marko started moving again, looking for a way out; when the spotlights suddenly came on, and started to move.

Marko froze. Spotlights can move because they're looking for moving targets. So when they come, you dodge, and you freeze till they past.

But these lights were different. They weren't searching the pit, or the walls…or for him.

The lights began to rotate. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. Marko didn't know what was happening, but it was starting to freak him out. He had to get out of this pit!

The lights overhead was spinning faster, and arms on the lights flexed downward, as if they were pinning him in. The energy in the air electrified. Marko could feel it, like sparks were flying off his skin. He tried running out of the ring, but bounced off something as hard as a wall. But that was crazy, right? The only walls were out beyond where he was…

And then he saw something on the floor of the pit. Somehow, he'd dropped a small gold locket with a picture of Penny in it. The only thing he had to remind him of Penny in the whole wide world was on the floor, getting swallowed up by the sand…sand that was moving...

_Wait…what? Moving? How?_

And then the night went from Weird to Scary As Hell. The sand in the bottom of the pit was moving, swirling, floating upward in a breeze that didn't exist.

Marko could feel his hair stand on end. His fingers were tingling. The static lightning was back, only much stronger now. He could feel the sand moving faster, but there was still no wind. Only the electricity, growing in intensity till Marko was certain he'd walked into a lightning storm.

The lightning didn't touch him, instead it seemed to go through him. But the sand, that hurt. Marko could feel every little grain of it as it hit him, and where every grain touched, sparks flew. The sand was moving faster, filling his ears with a dull roaring sound as the pain increased with the non-wind storm. Every grain of sand seemed to scoop part of him away. Every touch was agony, every motion was agony, and every grain of sand brought more, before being swirled around again.

And somehow, Marko could feel himself being pulled away with it.

But he wasn't moving.

Was he?

Marko dropped to his knees, except that his knees weren't there anymore. He raised his hands, but his hands were disappearing too…just particles, vanishing into the wind…

But it didn't hurt anymore. He reached for his limbs, and just for a second, they reached for them, except his hands were gone too. But he could still feel them.

_Where am I?_ Marko screamed silently. _My mouth! It isn't here! Why am I screaming if my mouth is over there?_

_Penny!_ Marko thought distantly. _Penny!_

* * *

Peter had been sitting outside of the trauma bay at St. Vincent's Hospital when he saw Harry being taken out for a CT scan, his heartbeat now stable. Peter quickly checked in with the first doctor he saw, then pretended to be family as he asked for information.

The doctor he'd contacted hesitated for a moment, and that was when Peter noticed he had an agent's ring on a heavy chain around his neck that would probably normally be hidden by his scrubs. Peter subtly flashed his own.

Dr. Michael Benning gave a nod. "The sun is shining."

"But the ice is slippery," Peter acknowledged.

Benning adjusted the chain on his neck, which caused the ring to fall back down and hide inside his scrubs, then scribbled some more information on the case notes. "All I can tell you is that he's finally stable. We know he's probably got head trauma, which probably explains why his vitals went up and down so much--the brain swells just like any other body part when it gets injured, and when the brain swells from a traumatic injury, the body's vital signs can be seriously affected. You told a nurse that he was hit by a car?"

"Yes," Peter replied.

"Well, he's in pretty good condition for someone who was hit by a car. Everything's dependent on his CT scan, of course, but he's already lucky to be alive after getting nailed by a car."

"When will we know more?" Peter asked.

"Probably in about a half-hour or so." Benning made a note on the chart. "I'm turning this over to one of the trauma service residents, depending on the results of the CT scan. He'll probably be brought up to the Medical ICU and spend the night there. The desk over there can give you directions to the waiting area for MICU. I'm heading over to CT now." Benning looked at Peter. "Unless…unless someone thinks Mr. Osborn needs to have my medical attention for a longer period?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, not sure he should be answering for Stephen at this moment. "Um, no, I think that will be just fine," he covered.

Benning nodded, and the two men parted company.

As Benning left, Peter noticed Stephen had collapsed in one of the chairs outside the Trauma unit. Peter went over to join him. "You O.K.?"

Stephen looked like he'd been put through a ringer. His skin was pale, his eyes were surrounded by haunting dark circles, and he kept rubbing his temples with trembling fingers while he spoke. "He kept…hovering, right on the edge…" Stephen shivered. "I met a couple of projectors that did deathbed scans. They wanted to see what was on the other side. I look in their eyes, their minds…there's nothing there any more." Stephen shivered. "Some of the teachers at the Temple…they say that's where Ying Ko came from. My Grandfather, in the trenches in WWI, with his un-awakened mind surrounded by so much death, kept projecting into the enemy soldiers' minds as he killed them. They think that…maybe the best of him was dragged away as their minds died."

Peter didn't know what to say. "Stephen…"

Stephen drew away from his partner's attempt at a comforting touch, then shook hard mentally, finally managing to detach his mind from that horrific moment in the trauma bay. "I'm O.K. He didn't die. I did what I could. I tried to wipe his memory of everything connecting him and his father to Spiderman, but there were a lot of connections to break, and I'm pretty sure I didn't get it all. It might not take."

"If it doesn't, we'll deal with it. You did the best you could."

Stephen nodded. "The best chance is that it's a complete memory wipe. The most likely chance is that it'll be a partial one that might stick." He sighed. "But we won't know till he wakes up."

"What now?"

"This is where we start making calls and putting the network into action."

"Speaking of which…the doctor that ran the trauma was an agent."

"I know. Dr. Michael Benning, newly-installed Director of Trauma Surgery. He's new in town and new as an agent. And he's _very_ useful."

"He says he's handing this off to a trauma resident."

"I'd personally think something was wrong if he didn't. If the CT scan doesn't show anything but possible symptoms of a concussion--which I'm pretty sure will be the case--he'd almost certainly assign this to a lower-level resident." Stephen stretched his tired body and ran his fingers through his hair, then sighed and sat up. "So, let's get the network going."

* * *

It took another hour, sitting in the Trauma waiting room drinking stale coffee, not really looking at each other. Which was just as well, Peter mentally decided, because Stephen was still looking like death warmed over and was still not looking like he agreed with Peter's choice of dealing with Harry. But Peter couldn't help that. Harry was his childhood friend, and anything that might be able to help bring childhood friend Harry out of New Goblin Harry had to be at least tried. Peter was not willing to kill just to resolve a problem.

Now the two superhero partners had to work together to resolve the problem of explaining the fact that Harry Osborn was now a trauma patient at St. Vincent Hospital in Manhattan.

New York _Classic_ editor Clyde Marsh had been called to handle the media attention of a disgraced socialite being in a life and death struggle.

With Harry unconscious, Osborn majordomo Bernard currently held next-of-kin authority, and had been summoned to answer several questions regarding medical history and legal issues.

Sarah and MJ had been called soon after, and were on their way.

And once the calls had been made, one of the trauma residents came into the Trauma waiting room. "Anyone here with Harry Osborn?"

Peter got to his feet and met him near the door, then began asking questions quickly. "How is he?"

"Are you family?" the doctor asked.

"I'm an old friend. I brought him in."

'I'm sorry, but if your aren't family I can't answer questions without permission from the Next of Kin."

Stephen came up behind Peter and glared at the Trauma resident, his eyes filled with dark and angry power. "_**Which you've already received, so stop stalling.**_"

The Doctor's eyes glazed briefly, then he started talking again. "O.K., then, come with me."

Peter cast a questioning gaze at Stephen, which Stephen answered with a nod to follow the doctor, who was already out in the hall.

Peter nodded and caught up with the doctor momentarily, Stephen shortly behind him.

The resident took no notice of the tension between the two men; Dr. Benning warned new arrivals on the Trauma Service that sometimes families behave in confusing ways and it was their job to be calm and clear in the midst of the confusion. "Well," the resident continued, "it was touch and go for a while there, but he's going to be O.K."

Stephen tensed and Peter relaxed simultaneously.

"There is one thing," the resident noted. "He appears to have suffered some traumatic retrograde amnesia. It's not complete amnesia, he still remembers some of his adult life, but the last few years more or less a blank slate."

"Is it permanent?" Peter asked, knowing how much meaning the question held for Stephen as well.

"There's no way to know at this point--we'll have to wait and see." The doctor gestured with his head to the unit in front of him. "He's in Med-ICU. You can see him if you like."

Peter balked. "Oh…maybe I should wait…"

"It's all right, just keep it brief," the doctor said encouragingly. "He's in Bay 3 once you get in there."

"Go ahead, Pete, he'd probably like to see you," Stephen encouraged. _**"And while you're in there, find out how far back the amnesia goes."**_

Peter steeled himself and headed into Med-ICU.

* * *

When Harry looked up at him from the hospital bed, Peter suddenly felt hopeful. Harry was smiling at him. It felt genuine. The savage rage that he'd had that same evening was gone. The ghoulish smirk he'd had at the Theater was gone. The hollow numb shock that he'd had after Octavius captured him was gone too. This was Harry, who never took anything seriously. Harry, who was always asking for help with homework.

This was his old friend. MIA for so long, returned to him now, with bandages around his skull.

"Hey, buddy," Harry slurred slightly, and raised a hand to the bandages. "Hit my head."

"Yeah," Peter chuckled. Harry always did have a grip on the obvious.

"The doctors say I was in an accident. Hit and run. I don't remember much of anything."

"What's the last thing you do remember?" Peter asked, trying not to sound worried or anything.

Harry's eyes went blank for a moment, and Peter held his breath.

"My father," Harry said finally. "He died, didn't he?"

Peter tensed. "Yeah. Years ago."

Harry shook his head. "This is so weird."

* * *

MJ had just come into the Med-ICU, where Stephen's text message to her phone had told her to come, when a hand flashed out and suddenly pulled her to her left, and there was sudden darkness.

A moment later, there was the sound of a light switch, and she was able to reorient herself. She was suddenly in a Hospital Supply Closet, nose to nose with Stephen. "Hi," he said with a smile.

"Hi," she answered lightly. "Fancy meeting you here. I'd have thought you'd have been in the waiting room for Med-ICU, which is where you told me to come."

"How much do you know?" Stephen asked her.

"Sarah called and told me that Harry's a Goblin now. She told me that Peter won the fight and that she had a vision of him on an operating table and it didn't look good. Then I got a message from Peter that he was here outside the Trauma bay. Then I got your message to come to Med-ICU. So I take it that Harry's still not looking good?"

"We aren't going to be that lucky. Harry's still with us. I tore his mind apart as best I could, but its even money what he remembers. I sent Peter in to find out."

Just then, the door opened, and MJ and Stephen looked, deer-in-headlights, at an Intern who had opened the door.

"Hey," Stephen barked at him. "Private meeting going on in here, take a hike."

The intern took in the sight of Stephen in trauma unit scrubs, took a longer look at MJ, then gave Stephen a thumbs up and retreated.

Stephen took MJ's left hand in his own and started rubbing his thumb over her fingers, occasionally moving her agent ring as if trying to determine if it fit properly. "MJ, if Harry remembers what's gone on over the past few years, I honestly don't know what he'll do when he wakes up."

MJ looked down at her hand, now in Stephen's, and tried to stay on topic. "If he does remember, then the fact that Peter brought him here might…nah, you're right, we aren't going to be that lucky."

"So…what do you think we should do?"

MJ blinked. "You're asking me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Stephen steeled his gaze. "Don't think for a second that I won't make the call, don't think for a second that I won't give the order, but you know Harry, and have known him longer than I do. We need to know what Harry knows."

"And how would we find this out?" MJ asked.

"We've got to get someone close to him," Stephen responded. "This is what we talked about."

"I know," MJ said, not liking the consequences of what she already knew. "So, let me see if I've got this straight. You're asking me to go in there and be a lot nicer to Harry than he deserves, on the chance that he doesn't remember that I'm with Peter now. You are asking me to go and be Harry's confidant for all the things that he won't tell Peter, and use the place I used to have in his life to manipulate more information out of him, so that we can tell if any of his memories are coming back, so that you can kill him if it starts to."

"That's it," Stephen said calmly. "Except for one thing: I'm not asking."

"Yes, sir." She looked skyward and sighed. "So, a Goblin returns from the dead, gets his brain implanted with telepathic blocks that held for a while but eventually failed, and you're playing god with all our day-to-day lives. Know what this reminds me of?"

"The day we met?" Stephen gave a wry smile.

"Yeah." MJ laughed at him, then stared at his odd fixation on her hand. "What the Hell are you doing?"

"Sizing you up for opera gloves like every proper female movie spy wears," Stephen answered.

Just then, the door opened, and MJ and Stephen looked, deer-in-headlights, at Sarah, who had opened the door.

"Oh, you _are_ both in here," Sarah said happily, putting a hand to her temple. "Good. I thought my clairvoyance was having some kind of weird psychic overlay problem."

A silent beat passed as the three of them stared at each other, then Sarah decided she'd rather not ask why Stephen and MJ were in a hospital supply closet right away, and she _really_ didn't want to know why Stephen was fixated on the fingers of MJ's left hand. "Well…see ya," she said finally, and shut the door again.

MJ shot an embarrassed look at Stephen. "I think I'd better get started on my new assignment."

"Good idea. He's in Bay 3."

MJ opened the door, glanced around to make sure she didn't see Peter, then headed into Harry's Hospital room.

Stephen followed with the intent to shadow her and listen at the door.

Sarah put out a hand and caught his arm, breaking his concentration.

Stephen whipped around and stopped his reactions--both physical and psychic--upon recognizing Sarah's face. "_**There'd better be a good reason you did that,**_" he told her.

"A message came to The _Classic_ tonight, addressed to you, left on my desk," she replied. "It was on one of your notecards. Whoever left it probably thought this was still your office, because it didn't look like Burbank's handwriting on the note."

Stephen winced. "Probably a contact I worked with as a reporter. What did it say?"

She handed the envelope to him. "It says 'Flint Marko escaped'."

A look of pure shock crossed Stephen's face. "Oh, bad timing." he complained as he re-read the note Sarah gave him to make sure it really bore such horrible news. "Bad, _bad_ timing!"

"I don't know who Flint Marko is," Sarah said.

Stephen glanced at Harry's Hospital Room. "Neither does Peter. For now, it has to stay that way." He sighed. "Look, I have to deal with Harry right now. I want you to go and call Agent Joe Cardona, 32nd Precinct. Exchange the phrase with him, and find out what happened with Marko."

"So, this is a police matter?" Sarah asked.

"For now, this is just between you and me," Stephen told her pointedly and handed back the note.

Sarah gave him a raised eyebrow response. "Like being in a closet with MJ is just between you and her?"

Stephen shrugged. "Just needed a moment of privacy somewhere."

Sarah smacked him with the note. "Just for that, I'm not going anywhere until I know if Harry wants to kill any of you."

"Suit yourself," Stephen said, then vanished into thin air.

Sarah shook her head. _I __am__ going to get you to teach me that,_ she mentally swore.

* * *

MJ stood outside Harry's room, still hidden by the room's privacy curtains, feeling like she was up for the toughest audition of her life. How was she going to do this? If Peter realized what she was up to, Stephen was a dead man. Maybe Harry too.

"_**Go on in, Mary Jane,**_" The Shadow's voice whispered in her ear.

MJ stiffened her resolve, then came into the room, looking out of breath and worried about an old friend.

Harry was wide awake, and very much alert. The ghoulish smirk that he had worn for the last year, including at her play, was gone. So was the hollow rage that she had seen at his father's funeral. Was this really Harry--the old Harry from pre-Goblin days?

She came over to stand next to Peter, and could tell that he saw it too. Harry Osborn was back. "Hey," she said, sounding as breathless as she was supposed to be. "I came as soon as I heard."

"I know that face!" Harry said, suddenly smiling hugely.

Inwardly, MJ relaxed. Now if she could just get Peter to leave the room for a second she could do her job and report back to Stephen. "Hey." she greeted warmly, coming to the bedside and taking his hand in hers. "How you doing?"

"I dunno," Harry admitted. "The last thing I remember, I was fine."

MJ smiled warmly. "You're still fine," she promised him. "And we love you, Harry."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Peter giving her a glance, but Harry clearly took the gesture to heart. He smiled back at her, suddenly hopeful. "It feels like I've been away for a really long time, and now I've come back home."

"Well, it's good to have you back, Harry." Peter said sincerely.

Just then, a nurse came over. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to scoot, O.K.?"

Peter seemed grateful, not really liking the way Harry was smiling at MJ. "O.K."

Harry suddenly seemed a little adrift again. "Well…I'll see you tomorrow?"

MJ smiled and squeezed his hand. "Great."

The two lovers left, and Harry relaxed back into his bed.

"You've got a pretty great set of friends." The nurse told him helpfully.

Harry smiled broadly, feeling that all was right with the world as he drifted off. "My best friends," he murmured. "I'd give anything for them."

* * *

Sarah and Stephen were waiting outside of Med-ICU when Peter and MJ came through the doors. "Well?" Stephen asked.

"Nothing after his father's death," Peter reported.

"Damn." Stephen pounded his fist into his hand. "I was hoping to go back a bit further."

"Well, he didn't say anything about how Norman died," Peter pointed out. "I don't think he actually remembered much of anything about Norman's death except that he was pretty sure his father was dead. He didn't mention anything about Spiderman…so, maybe…" Peter shrugged.

Stephen checked his watch. "It's 3AM." He turned to Peter. "One of us is late for patrol."

"And one of us has a test in Photonics tomorrow," Peter replied.

Stephen rolled his eyes. "O.K., fine, _I'm_ late for patrol. The rest of you can go home and get some sleep."

"Oh, I can't sleep," MJ moaned. "I'm too tense."

"Oh hey, that's right, the reviews are out tomorrow," Stephen responded, then sent a glance at Sarah, who nodded.

"And I don't know what she's worried about," Peter complained. "She was perfect."

"Well, we'll find out tomorrow," MJ stressed. "Good night, everyone."

"Wait up, hon, I'll walk you home," Peter called as he quickly caught up to her.

Stephen and Sarah both noticed MJ whisper in Peter's ear, then give a giggle as they headed for the elevator. "So, are we taking bets as to whether they're going up or down?" Sarah said aloud.

"Hell, I'm not taking bets on whether or not my memory block holds up long enough for any of us to leave the hospital," Stephen replied.

Sarah crossed her fingers and nodded her reply. "So, do you have Cardona's pager for after-hours consultations?"

Stephen flipped open his cell phone. "Hand me the note."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I was _kidding_!"

"I know." He pulled the notecard out of its envelope and wrote the number on a corner of the note. "Talk to him tomorrow morning." He inserted the notecard back in the envelope and handed it to her. "Then tell Peter that MJ's ring size is the same as yours."

Sarah looked at her left hand. "Really?"

Stephen nodded, smiling warmly for the first time in a while. "Really."

* * *

Marko was aware. He was aware of himself, and not much more, like being half awake. The longer he spent in that place, the more he wondered what existed outside himself. After a while, he became aware of warmth.

_Sunlight? How long have I been…here?_

After a while, he became aware of something else. Penny!

But how can he see Penny's face so clearly. She wasn't here, was she?

_The Locket! The locket with Penny's picture on it. But how can I see it? There's sand on it._

He could see it because he was the sand.

Marko panicked. He was the sand?

His panic made him want to run again. Panic had always made him act without thinking.

And amazingly, he moved. He could feel the sand moving over him. No, not over him. For him, for _he_ was the sand.

He reached for the locket. The sand swelled around it.

No that wasn't right. He wanted to hold it. He wanted fingers.

The sand caved in enough to create a shape. Fingers. Four. Thumb. Opposable. Arms…a little too short.

The sand moved. The arm became longer.

He wanted to look at it. He needed his face.

The sand moved, and started to build his face.

He pulled his hand up, the bring the locket closer, and it fell straight through the loose sand of his hand.

_Come on Flint, work it out. You can move. Why can't you stick? You made hundreds of sandcastles with Penny. What did you use? Water? Why water?_

_To make the sand stick together._

That was it. He had to make himself solid. He had to make himself stick together.

_Build yourself Flint. Build the sandcastle. Together._ He told himself. _Bring it all together. Keep together._

More sand rushed to him, running up his building torso. He was a man made of sand.

_This is impossible._ Marko told himself. _It's impossible, and I'm doing it._

He thought of Penny.

The rest was simple.

Flint Marko climbed out of the sand, grasping the locket safely in his hand.

As he moved, more sand followed him.

But he was complete wasn't he? How much more sand did he need?

The sand at his feet saw him. He was Flint Marko again. There were some grains clinging to him, he shook them loose. The loose sand chased his feet.

_Stay._ He told it.

The sand in the pit settled obediently.

His feet went out from under him now and then, but he kept moving. Step; strengthen; step.

* * *

Professor Donaldson was surprised at the press request, but nevertheless he welcomed the ditzy young woman in. He gave her a brief tour of the facility, finishing with the Control room.

And Sarah was ditzing it up the entire time.

"Well we'll have to keep the interview brief, because I've got a dentist appointment and the thing is that every time I go to a dentist they always give me novocaine when I don't need it and then it's hours before I can talk again; oh that's Robert, your guard at the gate, I met him earlier; HI ROBERT!" She shouted over to him.

The guard in question ducked his head and pretended he hadn't heard her.

Sarah turned back to Donaldson, nonplussed. "Nice man. So is this the control room, well of course it is look at all these controls, Earth to Sarah!" She trilled a laugh.

Donaldson was already exhausted. "Right."

Sarah pulled out her Palm Pilot. "So, my editor thinks that with the Shuttle Mission and all that now would be a good time to amp up the Science Section of our paper, so here I am sleeves rolled up, ready to learn; so what sort of work do you do here?"

"We're studying applied Particle Physics." Donaldson explained. "Basically, we're trying to find ways to de-molecularize matter."

Sarah looked at him, confused.

Donaldson tried again. "Like an early transporter. We could vaporise garbage, everything from loose paper to nuclear waste and turn it into safe inert matter. We could take inert matter and turn it into anything we wished. Food, clothing, fuel, etc. We've made some progress with manipulating particulate matter. Not much more than dust could be affected, no matter how much energy we threw at it. So we managed to move up to sand."

"And what happened?" Sarah asked.

"Nothing. We were hoping to make a pile of sand morph into a solid state shape. But the shape didn't take. We can make it move, but once the power shuts down, we can't get it to stick."

Sarah looked hard at Donaldson. "What would happen to a man in the middle of that?"

"Ridiculous."

"Humor me."

"The experiment morphs particulate matter at extreme velocity. Given the energies involves, and that fact that the machine was set to a predefined type of matter…well, anything in there wouldn't last long before being vaporized."

Sarah's face changed and suddenly Donaldson was nervous. "So then, you wouldn't know anything about Flint Marko," she said, all of the ditzy chick gone and the harder edged Shadow agent taking over.

"Flint Marko? Never heard of him," Donaldson replied.

"He was an escaped convict that was running from the police." Sarah's ditzy act was stone cold dead. "He made it over the fence about fifteen feet from your test site."

All the color drained from Donaldson's face. "Wh-When?"

"Last night. Around 3 AM."

Somehow, Donaldson got paler still, breathing hard suddenly.

Sarah nodded slowly. "I think you should be very glad that there's no body, and no trace of one."

As Donaldson forced himself to breathe again, Sarah made her goodbyes.

Donaldson went looking for Robert, the guard that let her in. "What do you know about that woman that just left?"

"Not much. She gave Press Credentials. When she signed the book, she wrote 'Aquarius' where it said 'Sign Here'."

* * *

When Sarah made it back to Moe's cab, Cardona was waiting for her. "Don't you usually work with Cranston or Parker?"

"Stephen and Peter are on another assignment. The boss wants me to just follow up something. It's probably nothing. If Marko was through here at all, he's most likely dead. So I guess it's just a routine." She shrugged. "Life is more than 50% maintenance."

"Ain't that the truth?" Cardona agreed. "Here you go."

He handed her a police file, and she flipped it open. Flint Marko's picture, stats, and criminal record jumped out at her. As she read, she questioned Cardona on one or two details. "And you're sure he went over the fence here?"

"Not here, more like a quarter mile away. It took the cops a while to figure out who's land it was since the place was surrounded by razor wire. And that was when they got around to it."

"Got around to it?"

"The dogs went straight to the fence, but with the terrain, their flashlights were pointed at the ground, and once they got to the fence there was no sign of anybody on the other side. From the sounds of electricity coming out of the place, they figured that if he was there he was fried, but they spoke to the maintenance crew, and they said there was no sign of a body this morning."

"Maintenance crews weren't the only ones on shift last night," Sarah told him.

"Really?" Cardona asked in surprise.

"There was an experiment running. But they don't know anything about Marko."

Just then, a section of the file itself jumped out at Sarah. Marko had been suspected of involvement in, but not officially connected to, a carjacking and murder years before.

**One deceased: Benjamin Parker.**

Sarah felt her eyes bulge. No wonder Stephen wanted Marko watched.

"So Marko broke out last night," Sarah summed up. "Any particular reason?"

"Yeah." Cardona explained. "I left the report in the file."

Sarah opened the file, found Cardona's handwritten note; sighed and closed the folder. She hoped Stephen was telling Peter this. It would be hard to hide something like this from a friend.

* * *

Stephen had never taken a conversation with his partner more seriously. "Do I have your attention?"

"Undivided." Peter said solemnly.

"You're about to enter an arena where the variables are never certain, and the result will decide the course of your entire life. This is quite honestly the moment you life has been building to, and because it is so intensely personal, I cannot be there. Do you understand that? I will _not_ have your back."

"That is the way it has to be," Peter agreed, most seriously.

"All I can do; is tell you that you have my unquestioning support. I will do all in my power to prepare you, prepare the battlefield, give you the tools, and give you the plan. But ultimately, this falls on you, and your admittedly powerful capacity to win the day."

Peter took a deep breath. "I am ready."

Stephen withdrew his hand from a pocket. There was a reservation card passed from Shadow to Spider. "The reservations have been made, in your name for two, Monday, Seven-Thirty PM at the Restaurant Constellation. Memorize it, and burn it before MJ finds it. She's had to collect your clothing plenty of times in case of exit; and we don't want it falling out of your pocket. You're certain you want this to happen there?"

"I thought about Sardi's or the Cobalt Club…" Peter admitted, "but I thought maybe…"

"No. Sardi's is too expensive for you unless there's something big up. It'll tip her off. Cobalt Club knows you too well. Depending on what those reviews say this afternoon, she might not be in the mood for familiar faces."

"O.K."

"When the appetizers come around, turn conversation to light matters. But do _not_ mention Gwen. Sarah either. The only girl in your life is _her_. Not even your Aunt May gets a mention. Is this clear?"

"Crystal."

"The Salad course will bring a more serious conversation. But only on positive topics. You may discuss other people, but only happy couples. The subliminal is half the battle."

Peter nodded somberly, committing the plan to memory.

"When the main course comes, you discuss the future. Plans that include her especially. But under no circumstances is this to dissolve into an actual planning session. Anything that there is disagreement on must be defined and moved away from quickly. This isn't about getting into the details; it's about establishing a place in each other's destinies."

"You've put quite a bit of thought into this," Peter said, with no amusement at all. He was grateful for the effort.

"I have. When the dessert comes, you talk about the past. How you met, first date. Stay the Hell away from every moment you ever stood her up, or that time you actually split."

"It's a tall order."

"You have it in you, Pete. I believe in you," Stephen said, with quiet and absolute confidence.

Peter rose to his full and powerful height. "I can do this."

"If anything goes bad, if the conversation turns unexpectedly, if it feels wrong for any reason, don't force it. You want to abort, do so, don't agonize about it. We can do this any other day, enjoy your date."

"Right."

"You have an appointment with Cartier's. The reservation is under your name, but the paying account will be in the Cranston name. Under no circumstances draw attention to that, or the society pages will have it. My family, sizing an engagement ring. It'll be a priority job. The ring will be ready, and delivered personally here to me under secure guard. It will remain in this safe," Stephen said deliberately, pointing at the personal wall safe set behind the picture of Victor. "I will provide you with the combination on Monday. I will leave the building at six, taking my personal staff out of the equation. The ring must be out of the building after close of business, or else Chloe will see it going out. Anything that could require MJ's attention in the network will be rerouted to me as of six thirty. Anything earlier than that, and she will notice the sudden absence of messages going to her. Sarah and I will be across the street, at the Café Rochelle. As soon as you have an answer, you will contact me on my cell. A 'yes' is a phonecall. A 'no' or an 'abort' is an instant message. We get the call; we come in and throw a party, which the staff at the Restaurant is already preparing. We get an IM, Sarah and I vanish into the night and we all walk away."

Peter nodded, taking a strong cleansing breath.

"Godspeed, Peter Parker," Stephen said, and shook his hand firmly.

Peter gaze did not waver in the slightest as he returned the handshake. "Thank you, Stephen Cranston."

Steeling himself, Peter walked out of his office, on his way to greater and grander things…

…passing Sarah Branson, who barely jumped aside without being flattened by his determined stride.

She slipped past Chloe and let herself into Stephen's office.

"If this is what you two are like on Thursday, I hate to think what you're gonna be like by Monday Night," Sarah told him.

"We're getting our game faces on; deal with it," Stephen told her. "I can't do this for Peter. I can't guarantee a happily ever after. So I'm giving him everything I can. Time's gonna come when I can't fix everything for him."

"You _do_ realize _you_ aren't marrying her, right?"

Stephen decided now would not be a good time to answer, so he got up and poured a snifter of cognac for both of them.

"I think Marko is dead," Sarah announced as a change of subject.

Stephen blinked. "Good. Bastard can burn in Hell for all eternity, as far as I'm concerned." He handed Sarah her drink.

"Little early in the day to get sloshed," Sarah said, swirling her snifter and taking a sip anyway.

"Never too early to toast the destruction of evil," Stephen returned.

"So, it was him?" Sarah pressed.

"I can't be sure. I heard the name when I investigated Peter's uncle, but there was no way to be sure. He got picked up on another charge, and he sure as Hell wasn't going to volunteer anything new to the judge. He's taken quite the tour of New York's penitentiaries over the past few years, but it was always petty stuff. Nothing violent…until that night."

"Well, then you need to see this," Sarah told him, and handed over the slip of paper Cardona had put in the file.

Stephen studied it briefly and shut his eyes. "Not good. This I did not need to hear this afternoon."

"Yeah," Sarah agreed. "Looks like one of Marko's cellmates this time around was a jailhouse snitch. They were about to drag Marko back in front of the judge on a murder rap. The police file is pretty thin, Stephen--Marko wasn't a great crook, and you're right, there's nothing here bigger than Burglary One."

"So odds are he only got the one chance to shoot somebody," Stephen agreed. "What was that about Marko being dead?"

"He jumped the fence at a Particle Research facility mid-experiment. The police can't find a body, but odds are there wouldn't be one."

"Is that confirmed?"

"Of course not. The scientist in charge doesn't know, and if he suspected he wouldn't say anything about a man being killed by his work."

Stephen agreed and scrunched the slip of paper. "Then until Marko surfaces again, the matter is closed."

"You aren't going to tell Peter?"

"I want Peter to keep his head in the clouds for another week. We can't prove any connection between this man and his uncle, and this man is likely dead. The matter is closed."

Sarah started to speak, when she looked past Stephen, out his office window.

One of the many cranes on the New York Skyline was moving…way too quickly.

* * *

**End of Part Three**


	4. Cut Off And In Trouble

The Darkness Within

A _Shadow_/_Spider-Man_ Crossover by Stephensmat and Scarlet

**Part Four**

_(__**The Story So Far:**__ Peter Parker, Stephen Cranston, and Sarah Branson attended Mary Jane Watson's debut as a lead in a Broadway musical, __Manhattan Memories__. The ice between Sarah and Stephen has started to thaw, but Sarah is still uneasy with Stephen spending so much time with MJ, and deliberately hiding their rendezvous from Peter. Harry Osborn, freshly back from Oxford, England, also attended the Opening Night performance, then transformed himself into another superpowered human and took on his father's role as the New Goblin. First target: Peter Parker, who he battles in the skies over Manhattan until Peter manages to clothesline Harry with a cable-thick web. But when Harry doesn't immediately wake up after a 40-foot fall where his head takes a hard bump, Peter becomes terrified of what he's done, and races back to Cranston Manor--where Sarah and Stephen are relaxing and letting their psyches blend--and tells Stephen about Harry's new powers and role as the New Goblin, but that Peter may have killed him during the fight. But when Stephen and Peter arrive on-scene, it isn't long before they realize that news of Harry's demise may be premature, and the Goblin healing factor is kicking in. Peter wants another chance to reason with Harry and isn't willing to let him die as an enemy, but Stephen thinks it's the only way to ensure that this battle doesn't repeat itself night after night and pollutes another generation of Parkers and Osborns. Peter insists that Stephen wipe the last few years out of Harry's mind, and even though Stephen doesn't think he's up to the challenge, he tries anyway in St. Vincent's Trauma Bay 1, as new agent Dr. Michael Benning leads the charge to save Harry's life from what he's been told is a hit-and-run ped vs. auto. Stephen's mind-wipe succeeds…but just barely, as he manages to get rid of events back to the moments prior to Harry finding Spider-Man standing over Norman's dead body. Thus, Harry has a vague feeling that Norman is dead--which Peter confirms--but remembers nothing after that. But another agent message sends the already overtaxed inner core of the network into overdrive--Flint Marko, a recently uncovered Person of Interest in the murder of Ben Parker, has escaped from prison just hours before he was due to be transferred to Manhattan for questioning. Marko makes his escape from Queensboro Correctional Facility after a long foot race by scaling a razor-wire-topped fence surrounding a testing facility for subatomic molecular manipulation…but finds himself an unwitting part of the experiment, as his molecules are disintegrated only to be re-integrated into the sand at the bottom of the pit. Marko manages to re-construct himself as a man of living sand, and escapes the pit. While Stephen and Peter plan the details of Peter's upcoming proposal to Mary Jane, Sarah finds out the details of why the police are so interested in Marko, but believes him dead because of the scientist's explanation of his experiment. But when Sarah arrives to brief Stephen on the details of Marko's prison escape and possible demise, they are both interrupted by a skyscraper crane that is moving way too quickly…)_

* * *

Far above them all, John Jameson was strapped into his seat in NASA's new shuttle, the cutting edge experimental craft _FarReach_. Above the Earth for fourteen days, "Houston, this is _FarReach_," he called to the Texas-based spacecraft control center.

"Go ahead, FarReach," NASA's Houston control center returned.

"We are ready for re-entry, just waiting for your O.K."

"FarReach, this is Houston, you are go for re-entry." The Houston control center commander paused for a moment, as they had all done since the loss of the Shuttle _Columbia_. "See you on the flipside, Major."

John did his final checks. The payload--a malfunctioning satellite and its cargo of cometary's debris--was secured tightly behind him and the crew. His crew had signaled preparation for their return home, the safety gear had all shown nothing but green lights, Houston had verified their trajectory, and all was well.

Nonetheless, he checked again. No astronaut had ever forgotten _Challenger_. No astronaut had ever forgotten _Columbia_. And no astronaut had ever forgotten the macabre joke about what the initials in NASA stood for: "Need Another Seven Astronauts".

John flipped the necessary switches, gave one last glance at the five remaining crew members behind him, traded a salute with his co-pilot, and pushed _FarReach_ back into Earth's atmosphere.

Each man and woman on the flight felt the g-forces press them back into their seat as the windows glowed red around them.

* * *

Gwen stretched her shoulders, pretending to be really fascinated by the photocopier she was half sitting on, with fellow models Emma on her left, Marissa on her right. The three of them had worked together before. But today was just weird. At least MJ could get her face on a billboard. MJ's ads had some class to it, some art. Gwen was sitting on a photocopier. Last time she'd done that was when she and Stephen had snuck into the faculty lounge at his High School Formal on a dare and photocopied their…

"O.K. Gwen, I've got a secret: It's my copier," Paulo drawled, way too excited.

Gwen fought to keep her face sexy in the face of lunacy and blew an air kiss at him. She knew people were watching out of the corner of their eyes. Why they had to do this in a running office in the middle of the day she couldn't understand. Who put a photocopier in front of a view like this in a working office anyway?

Paulo was one of the nuttier photographers she knew, Peter would forgive her for saying so. But he kept his hands to himself around the models and he was as complimentary when he had things his way as he was vicious when anything went slightly away from his plan.

Like now. Paulo's face twisted. "What is that thing doing in my shot?"

Gwen glanced over her shoulder. A forty-foot beam was suddenly visible in the window.

Gwen felt the universe drop into slow motion, as the girder suddenly got very _very_ big, and she heard Emma scream beside her.

Feeling like she was moving through molasses, Gwen pushed Emma aside and threw herself to the ground.

She could feel the impact right down to her fingertips as the girder dug its way into the side of the building. She was hyperaware of every sound, and barely noticed the feel of glass shards raining down on her.

There was silence, and Gwen raised her head. The wall had been disappeared, and the wind was blowing gently through the room. Gwen checked and couldn't believe how close it had been to hitting her. Far below outside, she could hear chunks of building, and whole office tables hitting the ground, and people screaming as sirens began to sound.

She glanced around. Nobody seemed hurt.

Paulo was barely recognizable with his face so pale. "It's coming back!" he yelled and ran for it.

Gwen spun and ran away from the window, as well as everybody else.

The Crane hit again, a floor lower, taking another neat slice out of the building.

Gwen ran for it.

The floor caved beneath her feet, its supports at the corner of the building gone.

Suddenly, Gwen was sliding toward open air.

* * *

"_**Chloe**_!" bellowed Stephen, through both the intercom and through the air with his mind as hard as he could.

The intercom buzzed back first. "You roared?"

"Call Josh Oded. His number is on Victor's Personal list. Get him now. Right now." He barely paused. "I don't hear the sound of dialing! Call now!"

Sarah saw a helicopter circling the crane from above, and started flicking through channels on the TV across the room. "Who's Josh Oded?"

"Bigwig at Edison. If the site operators could kill that crane, they would have, so we've got to cut power to the whole block before…"

Sarah finally found a TV station that was covering the crane disaster. "Too late," she said.

Stephen turned to look at the station. "Chloe, channel 5," he called through the intercom. "Give me Oded now!"

"Line one," she replied.

The news anchor was watching the scene happen in a split-scene. "We're getting our first images now, and the situation looks as bad as--oh, my God!"

The cameras focused on one blonde woman hanging off the edge of the building. The camera couldn't show what she was clinging to, but whatever it was, it wasn't much. But the woman was all too familiar.

The phone fell straight out of the transfixed Stephen's hand. "Gwen!" croaked Stephen in horror.

Sarah suddenly jerked as Stephen's resounding mental scream of "_**NOT AGAIN!**_" hit her full in the psyche.

Sarah put a hand on his shoulder. "Spidey's heading there. He'll make it. She'll make it."

Stephen calmed down slightly. "Josh, this is Stephen Cranston. What's up with the block with the crane swinging wild on it? Are you watching TV?" He paused. "No, they can't shut it off or they would have already. Kill the power for the block. I don't give a crap about the whiners at the local TV stations. Kill the power. There's a woman hanging from the building, and she's about to get killed by that crane. Kill the power!"

On the screen, the crane kept smashing the building as Gwen fought desperately for a grip. The metal plate that normally held the glass in place came half free of the building, and Gwen was swept, still clinging to it, halfway out over the street, four hundred feet in the air.

MJ came rushing into the office. "I heard on the car radio that--" She saw the screen. "Oh no!"

Sarah blinked. "How'd you get past Chloe?"

"She was watching on a mini-TV at her desk. I honestly don't think she noticed me come in."

Sarah blinked again. "Should we tell her to come in here and watch with us?"

"Dammit, Pete, where are you?" Stephen hissed at the screen violently.

"No," MJ told Sarah decisively.

Stephen punctuated her answer with a glance over her shoulders at the open door to his outer office.

It shut itself hard, sealing the trio and their secrets in momentary solitude.

* * *

It had been sitting for eternity in the cold, waiting for something.

Then, finally, it felt a joyful warmth.

It rejoiced! Warmth…it could feel itself again.

But then…something far more soothing than warmth. It felt energy. Mighty energy. He could feel its lines drawn all around it, leading through circuits and switches.

Rejoicing, finally able to feel, to feed, it stretched itself.

There was something in its way. It felt into itself. The obstruction was solid. The obstruction was strong.

Not nearly strong enough.

* * *

A black gooey substance oozed out of what was left of a meteorite inside the Space Probe Cargo Hold. At first, it merely looked like some molten rock or alien lava.

Then, the lava sprouted tentacles as it reached forward on the ground and pulled the rest of itself out of its transportation, as if it were some stretchy multi-legged black alien spider.

Finally free of the rock, the alien creature began crawling along the ground. It had traveled a long way, and it was feeling weak and tired. It needed sustenance. It needed a new host.

Forcing itself out, in a way it had been unable to do for eons, it reached for the power.

* * *

_FarReach_ had entered communication blackout. Every astronaut since Apollo 13 had grown to hate this moment, including John Jameson. They were completely cut off from their controller and had to trust that the flight plan programmed in by Houston Mission Control was going to be able to glide them through the atmospheric bubble that looked practically invisible from outer space yet turned into one of the worst stresses that could ever be inflicted on air and space vehicles.

_FarReach_ was a new generation of manned space vehicles, built by Stark Technologies under NASA's guidance--which, rumor had it, that Tony Stark couldn't even muster enough of a damn to care about, which brought most of the NASA astronauts to cheers, as NASA really only cared whether or not their precious space objects returned to Earth safely. Stark had showed it off personally, with the proclamation that this was going to be the first space shuttle that the Mission Commander would actually feel like he was truly _flying_. Of course, only Stark could come up with the greatest incentives: Magnums of Dom Perignon to christen each mission--not by breaking the bottle, of course, but by drinking to it after each return home. Even though the first mission was only a quick up-around-down, the test pilot who got out of there couldn't stop talking about how _superfantasticmanyou'vegottatrythisthing__now_.

John had tried it. And damn, it felt good to fly. It was smoother than any shuttle before, and he'd flown it from coast to coast and around the world inside the atmosphere. And its takeoff profile--especially when they hit "Throttle Up", the engines that kicked in to lift the shuttle into outer space felt so good you'd swear you were driving a really high-end sports car.

But this wasn't a sports car. It was a space shuttle. And every shuttle pilot or crewmember knew that no shuttle that went into orbit was ever safe until it was back on the ground.

The friction from re-entry had turned the air white hot, the thickening atmosphere had turned to plasma. Liquid fire was pouring over the nose of the Space Shuttle, and as a result, John and his crew were silent from the world until they got lower and slower. No one spoke. It was a tradition. No one spoke during radio silence unless it was an absolute emergency.

Like, for example, right now.

John didn't see what had happened, but suddenly the avionics had shifted in his grip. All the screens all frizzed and blinked out.

At the same time, there was a shattering sound behind him, as if something had blasted its way through the cargo hold.

Something black was at the edge of his vision, as alarms blasted out from every side.

* * *

The obstruction was easy enough to break out of, once it had warmed up a bit. But the power it had sensed was wrong, wrong, wrong. Cold, dead, artificial. It wanted something real. It could feel natural energy ahead. Alive, and warm…weak, but it was desperate.

As it reached, it became aware that its surroundings were becoming hostile. When suddenly there was a blast of heat and noise.

The noises made the air around it howl and it retreated instantly, its cells screaming with the vibration.

* * *

Spider-Man arrived on the scene and took instant stock of the situation. The crane operator was freaking out, hitting the shutdown button over and over, trying to kill the circuits. It clearly wasn't working, and Spider-Man could see the sparks flying out of the engine like crazy. The girder was still swinging out of control, apparently on its second pass through the corner of the building, one slice through either side of the fortieth floor. The corner of that floor had collapsed fifteen feet lower, and the debris had swept everything down toward the ground, where the police were keeping everyone at bay.

One woman was still clinging to the wrecked edge of the building…

_GWEN!_ Spider-Man thought in horror.

* * *

The swinging beam had come full circle again, and Gwen knew her time was up.

The forty foot steel girder swung back into the building hard, tearing upward this time, and taking her with it. She was swept off the outside of the building by the massing metal. Glass bit at her, and nothing but concrete below.

Gwen lost her death grip on the building, and screamed as she fell.

The world dropped into slow motion again, and even her hyper-aware senses couldn't hear the sound of her own shrieking over the pounding of blood rushing through her ears.

But somehow, she could see him.

A blur of red and blue salvation swooped in from the sky. It fired a line from its hand, to pull itself along, closer to her by the debris itself. It turned itself impossibly on end and flew through the crane's arm like a missile…

For a moment, her view was blocked by a chunk of concrete bigger than she was, when suddenly it turned around, with her hero actually standing on it, leaping from it, and wrapping his arms tightly around her, suddenly skyborn.

The world sped up to normal and she found herself the latest member of New York City to be rescued by the Amazing Spider-Man.

* * *

The g-forces were making John dizzy, half his crew were already passed out, but he fought to keep his grip on the controls. "_FarReach_ to Houston, can you hear me?" he called into his radio, knowing that they had only just passed the halfway point for a standard re-entry…which this clearly was not. "Houston, this is _FarReach_!" he cried out. "Houston, this is _FarReach_!"

No answer.

"Greg--you still with me?" John shouted at his second-in-command.

"Yeah," Greg replied. "Maybe."

"Good, at least somebody is. I need a back-of-the-hand calculation of our closest landing site when we emerge from radio silence…"

And at that moment, they broke out of the plasma firestorm and into the atmosphere, and John knew _exactly_ where the closest landing site was going to be.

_Never landed a shuttle at LaGuardia,_ he noted. _First time for everything, I guess._

_Mom…Dad…I'm home,_ he thought as he continued to try and do anything with his damaged craft other than slamming it into the Manhattan skyline.

* * *

Gwen had never been so exhilarated, so charged.

_Surely,_ she told herself. _This is what flight feels like._

But she was not weightless; she was merely protected, as her guardian lowered himself to the ground and balanced her on his hip to keep her feet from touching down harshly.

_Please,_ she whispered to him silently. _I understand now, I understand everything now, you have such power, and you use it to rescue me, after what I've done to you. Forgive my foolishness, and I will honor you._

* * *

Stephen let out a hard, soul-cleansing breath. "Thank you, God!"

Sarah grinned and gave him a hug from behind. "Told you he'd make it."

MJ grinned proudly. "That's my man."

* * *

John Jameson had no idea how badly damaged the shuttle's exterior was, but its control systems were pretty much shot to Hell. If he didn't do this now, they'd overshoot the US mainland and ditch in the Atlantic, and though he'd tested ditching like all shuttle pilots, there was no telling what would happen if all this chaos had come from exterior damage encountered God-only-knew-when-or-where. If he _did_ do this now, they'd probably take out a bridge and a skyscraper or two but might be able to make LaGuardia for a hurried landing on a busy commercial runway.

Neither was a good option. So Jameson took the best one he had that _didn't_ involve drowning in the Atlantic.

He flipped the switches to kill the engines and release the landing parachutes.

* * *

Gwen felt ground beneath her feet.

"Are you O.K.?" Spider-Man asked her.

"Yeah," she managed to get out. _Am I O.K.? Am I O.K.?_ She stared at her new guardian breathlessly, and he looked back.

Distantly, Gwen was aware of Brock, snapping photos almost non-stop. Gwen still had her hands on his shoulders, and she wished she could see his eyes…

Explosions ripped the air, but these were not explosive blasts. These were explosions of pure sound.

Sonic booms filled the sky, and everyone managed to tear their eyes away from Gwen and Spider-Man, all of them looked up in shock, as the space shuttle blew past overhead, clearly in the wrong place, and far, far too low.

"Go!" Gwen told him, as though he needed her permission to break the moment. _Go fight the good fight,_ she beseeched him. _Go be our hero again_.

Spider-Man was already gone.

* * *

The cameras had spun wildly, trying to follow the new story as the air around the helicopters exploded with movement.

Stephen was on his feet in an instant, looking not at the TV, but at the skyline visible out his office window as the glass rattled. "The Hell?"

Sarah was also on her feet. "Was that the…?"

"It was," MJ said, aghast. "John…"

Stephen was at the window, searching the skyline as a trail of smoke and fire disappeared behind buildings. "If he's _lucky_, he _might_ make LaGuardia."

MJ didn't want to ask the next question.

Sarah did it for her. "And if he's not?"

Stephen was already staring through a pair of binoculars on his window sill as he dialed his cell phone hurriedly. "Port Authority?" he said into the phone. "This is Stephen Cranston. Listen, that roar in the sky fifteen seconds ago? Yeah, that one. That's about to cause a massive traffic jam at the Triborough Bridge."

* * *

"Gwen!"

The starstruck blonde spun around and saw a face she recognized. "Eddie!" She shouted, still high on the thrill.

Brock seemed absolutely torn between giving the woman before him a tight hug, and chasing after the superhero. "Are you O.K.?"

Gwen was still ten stories above the ground. "Oh, yeah."

"Listen, I hate to do this, but wherever that shuttle hits is going to-"

"Yeah, sure, whatever, Eddie."

Brock wasn't paying much attention to the fact that she wasn't paying attention; he was already heading for the street. "Thanks! Call you later!"

* * *

_I know Tony Stark doesn't like flying commercial, but this is beyond ridiculous._

That was Spider-Man's internal snark generator providing him with a quip he'd never get to use as he swung as fast as he could, racing to wherever-it-was that Stark's new shuttle was heading toward. He was relieved beyond measure that the shuttle wasn't going to land during rush hour. The streets were fairly empty, the traffic light and moving smoothly.

It was about the lightest he'd ever seen traffic on the Triborough Bridge. But he was pretty sure that thing in front of him was over the weight and height limit for the bridge.

The shuttle had come down fairly straight, ricocheted off the bridge towers, and gotten tangled in the suspension cables, as the parachute got tangled, bringing the whole thing to a wrenching halt.

The shuttle structure was torn in several places, one of the wings had been sheared off, and the cars that hadn't been able to get off the bridge in time had been tossed into the sides of the bridge like children's toys.

The ones that Spider-Man couldn't help were all crushed underneath the shuttle. The ones that hadn't been totally destroyed were fairly intact, and there was precious little in between.

The intact cars had people clambering out of them.

With them fairly safe, Spider-Man swung onto the bridge. Relieved to see the crew compartment intact--meaning they had probably kept internal compression, so they at least stood a chance of surviving the trip home--he ripped the shuttle hatch clear off.

* * *

It felt the impact that threw its world apart and wrapped itself around itself, trying to save itself. There was plenty of warmth all around it, but this was fiery heat, not the welcoming kind, and it wept in terror.

Suddenly, there was a bright light filling its senses. Above it, were two larger creatures. The smaller one had more life energy than the little bits and pieces the alien had so far seen…

…but the larger one, holding onto the first, was practically glowing with power.

Power, such power. Energy! Such mighty energy!

The creature was momentarily startled by the loud burst of sound of scraping and more sounds of mechanized objects with hideously loud engines that followed, but managed to pull itself together enough to realize that its potential new host was about to escape; and leapt toward it.

But such movement, through fire and noise, when it had gone without for so long, had cost it nearly everything. It could not hope to fight its way into its host now.

But it had to. It had no choice. It needed energy. And the creature coming in and out of view had it in abundance.

Hope allowed it to overcome its terror, just for a moment, and as this dazzling burst of electrical impulses reached past him, it threw itself at it, and gripped.

Then the impact came back, and it froze, hoping that its deliverer would take it away safely.

* * *

Spider-Man grunted, trying to see through the smoke. His spider sense was going off non-stop as he felt his way through the smoke and the flame.

By the time he'd lifted out his third pair of crewmen, something was sticking to his costume…a thick black tar.

_Great,_ he thought clinically. _That'll be fun to clean off. Dontcha just hate it when the space shuttle comes down on an asphalt truck or something and you brush up against it in your newest costume? I sure do._

The shuttle crew were all unconscious. Sparks were flying everywhere, panels were exploding from the discharge, the smoke was making vision impossible…

Spider-Man started grabbing the unconscious bodies and pulled them out of their seats.

When he got to John Jameson, he couldn't help a small smirk of irony. "It's a good thing laughing boy is wrong about me being the jealous type," He responded. "You will mention this to your dad though, wont'cha?"

John Jameson was out cold.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Spider-Man agreed, and laid him down beside his crew, safely out of the Shuttle, and scanned around. At the other end of the bridge, people were still streaming away from the wrecked cars…

When suddenly his spider sense told him to look up.

One of the cables wrapped around the shuttle tail had come loose, and the long heavy coil of steel came crashing down…

On one of the cars which had been shoved to the side of the bridge. A teenage boy had been climbing out of his car window.

The additional weight forced it over the edge of the bridge before he could get clear.

Spider-Man hurled himself over the side of the bridge.

With the always-cold East River below, the angles were a nightmare, and worse yet, he was too far away for Spider-Man to even think about reaching him.

As the boy screamed, the helicopters circled for the shot.

* * *

Stephen, MJ and Sarah sat riveted to the screen as the rescue unfolded dramatically.

"You think Peter's getting pictures of this?" MJ asked, breathless.

Stephen didn't smile, looking hard at the screen. Stephen knew from experience, that once you reached a certain velocity, the surface of water could be hard as a brick wall. That by itself wasn't so bad for his partner. Spider-Man had been put through plenty of brick walls. But not so where the teenager was concerned. He had done the math too. There was no way Spider-Man could swing over before the boy hit the water.

The news camera fought to focus, just in time to see Spider-Man fire a web out to his left, and another in the opposite direction. The web fanned, catching the boy in a net, before attaching itself to the bridge pylon.

Spider-Man dropped below the web line, revealing that the second line he had fired was tied to the net, attached to the opposite pylon.

The web stretched, leaving the boy caught in a safety net a good five feet above the East River.

Spider-Man dropped hard into the drink.

Stephen froze. Sarah and MJ audibly gasped.

"The boy seems safe!" the on-site newscaster reported. "Police boats are coming up on him now. There's no sign of…wait, pan left! Left! THERE! THERE HE IS! Spider-Man is safe! He's coming up out of the water now!"

And sure enough, on the screen, his suit soaked and dirty, Spider-Man was firing a line up at the underside of the bridge, scaling his way back up.

Stephen and Sarah whooped. MJ let out a breath like she'd been holding it for a year. Sarah was on her feet cheering, Stephen right next to her, caught up in the thrill of adrenaline, he picked her up, and spun her around, realized who it was, and set her down on her feet.

Sarah didn't let go right away.

Neither did Stephen.

They stared at each other like total strangers for a moment, before glancing over at MJ, who was trying very hard to be invisible.

"Oh, please," she assured them, ever so reasonable. "Don't let me stop you."

Sarah and Stephen let each other go very quickly.

"I've got some work to do," Stephen mumbled awkwardly.

"Me too, now," Sarah agreed, gesturing at the screen.

* * *

Spider-Man landed lightly on his balcony, and started stripping off the filthy suit. Cleaning your own gear was one of the fortunes of having a secret identity. Stephen's cloak was Dry Clean Only, but he had his own cleaning staff, which could cover most suit maintenance.

But that would keep for another few hours. He pulled the suit off, fighting the tug of the wet spandex, examining the thick black muck on his skintight suit.

"East River," Peter growled to himself. "I gotta get Stephen to do something about that."

He went to the closet, threw the filthy one into the bottom, out of sight, and grabbed the next one along. A quick change of undergarments, and Peter headed off to his bathroom for a gloriously soothing hot shower before taking his nightly patrol.

* * *

It felt stillness, after the energy being had released him. The room was dark and quiet. But there was still enough warmth.

It waited.

* * *

**End of Part Four**

**

* * *

**_AN: Going a little AU now. Read and Review!_**  
**


	5. NY Heart SpiderMan

The Darkness Within

A _Shadow_/_Spider-Man_ Crossover by Stephensmat and Scarlet

**Part Five**

_(**The Story So Far:**__ Peter Parker, Stephen Cranston, and Sarah Branson attended Mary Jane Watson's debut as a lead in a Broadway musical, Manhattan Memories. The ice between Sarah and Stephen has started to thaw, but Sarah is still uneasy with Stephen spending so much time with MJ, and deliberately hiding their rendezvous from Peter. Harry Osborn, freshly back from Oxford, England, also attended the Opening Night performance, then transformed himself into another superpowered human and took on his father's role as the New Goblin. First target: Peter Parker, who he battles in the skies over Manhattan until Peter manages to clothesline Harry with a cable-thick web. But when Harry doesn't immediately wake up after a 40-foot fall where his head takes a hard bump, Peter becomes terrified of what he's done, and races back to Cranston Manor--where Sarah and Stephen are relaxing and letting their psyches blend--and tells Stephen about Harry's new powers and role as the New Goblin, but that Peter may have killed him during the fight. But when Stephen and Peter arrive on-scene, it isn't long before they realize that news of Harry's demise may be premature, and the Goblin healing factor is kicking in. Peter convinces Stephen to do a mind-wipe on Harry to prevent another round of Goblin vs. Spidey, and even though Stephen doesn't think he's up to the challenge, he tries anyway in St. Vincent's Trauma Bay 1, as new agent Dr. Michael Benning leads the charge to save Harry's life from what he's been told is a hit-and-run ped vs. auto. Stephen's mind-wipe succeeds…but just barely; Harry has a vague feeling that Norman is dead--which Peter confirms--but remembers nothing after that. Meanwhile, Flint Marko, a recently uncovered Person of Interest in the murder of Ben Parker, escaped from prison just hours before he was due to be transferred to Manhattan for questioning…but finds himself an unwitting part of a demolecularizing experiment as he falls into a sandy pit during his escape, and his molecules are disintegrated only to be re-integrated into the sand at the bottom of the pit. Marko manages to re-construct himself as a man of living sand, and escapes the pit. Peter plans to propose to Mary Jane soon, but he finds himself forced into the role of Spider-Man to save the public from a series of disasters…including Spider-Man saving Gwen Stacy from an overhead crane going berserk. While Gwen's would-be suitor Eddie Brock photographs the entire rescue, Spider-Man rushes off to save the new Stark Industries prototype Space Shuttle, flown by Commander John Jameson, as Jameson crashes it into the Triborough Bridge while trying to reach LaGuardia Airport. Jameson lost control of the shuttle due to a sticky tar-like life form that escaped from its imprisonment in an asteroid stored in the shuttle's cargo hold…and the life form, hungry for energy, latches onto Spider-Man as a "tar stain" on his suit, now satisfied that this new life form will give it all it needs and more, waits quietly in the bottom of Peter's closet for his return…)

* * *

_

Stephen Cranston was elbow-deep in pretending to tend to Cranston Industries business while he was in fact reviewing intel from The Shadow's network concerning the events of the previous day--including an early report from Stark Industries that the shuttle accident investigation team had found a hole in the cargo bay that punched through the bulkhead into the control computer, so they strongly suspected improperly secured cargo was the cause of the malfunction that forced the shuttle to have to make an emergency landing--and thus was in no mood to answer the intercom that was now buzzing loudly in an effort to get his attention. He smacked the speaker button with such force that it was a wonder the phone itself didn't break. "What?"

"You know, you should really try a more positive intercom manner," Chloe's no-nonsense voice, a voice that he'd hired her to use as a weapon against anything that happened to stand in his way at any particular moment, retorted.

Stephen once again found himself trapped by the realization that what he'd actually hired was a powerful multi-edged battering ram. "What, _please_?"

"Hey, that's _good_!" Chloe replied in an oh-so-artificial tone of pleasure. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Chloe…"

There was a short pause, as Chloe got the point that there was only so far she could push someone she'd personally seen make grown men shiver with just one look. "There's a blonde out here--says her name's Gwen. Is this a new addition to your harem?"

"I don't have a harem."

"See, you say that, but it's hard to sound believable when the blonde out here can't even come up with a business excuse for wanting to see you…"

Stephen came out of his office before Chloe could complete the sentence and grabbed Gwen in a big hug.

Gwen smiled and hugged him back warmly. "Good morning to you, too."

Chloe rolled her eyes and made a mental note to add "blonde named Gwen" to the list of assets in the boss' non-harem.

"I saw the whole thing on the news," Stephen whispered in her ear. "Are you O.K.?"

Gwen felt so good that the word "O.K." was decidedly an understatement. "I'm fine."

"O.K., O.K., happy hug time's over," Chloe piped up. "This is a place of business. Take the PDA behind closed doors, for crying out loud."

Stephen gave her a glare to remind her which of them was _really_ in control of this place of business, then escorted Gwen into his own workspace.

"She seems delightful," Gwen commented.

Stephen shrugged. "Seemed easier than training a Doberman to type."

"I heard that," Chloe called back.

"Good," Stephen replied as he closed the door, then returned his attention to Gwen. After everything she went through the day before, he was just dammed glad to see her alive, let alone in his office. "So, do I need to ask what brings you here?"

"I was in the neighborhood," Gwen shrugged, ever so cool and collected. "There were about four thousand messages from you on my phone after what happened, and since I finally got a break from classes…"

"And?"

Suddenly, Gwen was almost dancing around his office. "Stephen, it was _incredible_! I haven't been this jazzed since…_ever_!"

Stephen laughed.

"Oh, why didn't you introduce me to him years ago? Could have saved a lot of wasted time and money!" She was nearly singing.

Stephen laughed harder.

"Anyway, I didn't feel like sitting in class, didn't feel like going to a empty house, thought you might want to go grab lunch, maybe go skydiving, maybe get tattooed!"

Stephen hit the intercom. "Chloe?"

"What?"

Stephen smirked. "You know, you should really try a more positive intercom manner."

"What, Boss?"

"Better. What have I got for lunch today?"

"The mayor wanted to talk to you."

"Did he say why?"

"Something about city revenue."

"Oh, yeah, that." He walked over to his computer and hid the workspace that contained Shadow intel, then checked something on the company's internal web site.

Gwen noticed his attention to business once more and reminded herself that not everybody got to have the excitement of being rescued by a superhero. "We can do it another day."

Stephen held up a hand. "Chloe, did we make the reservation or did they?"

He could almost hear Chloe roll her eyes. "If by 'they' you mean his borderline incompetent personal assistant, 'they' did."

"Point noted. Did 'they' say where?"

"At that new European Fusion restaurant in Times Square."

"Oh, good." He grinned at Gwen. "Care to join me?"

Gwen's grin tripled. "Sure."

Stephen closed the web browser and returned his attention to the intercom. "Chloe, get me Craig Gilbert of Internet Services. Bypass his secretary and call his direct line."

"Is he getting fired?"

"Not right away, so don't use the Scary Voice unless his voice mail answers. Then call his cell and use the Scary Voice."

"Will do."

Stephen looked at his watch.

"Afraid we'll be late?" Gwen asked.

"Just timing how long it takes him to return Chloe's call."

"What, won't she tell you if she got him on the line?"

"Gilbert is the director of IS, and he tends to avoid taking phone calls. That's why I said she could call his cell."

"What's the 'Scary Voice'?"

Stephen watched line one ring and waited for Chloe to answer it. "You're about to find out."

The intercom buzzed.

Stephen tapped it. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Craig Gilbert for you on line one," Chloe's way-too-sweet voice replied.

"Thank you. Get Randall Jackson from PR while I'm on this call. Standard Scary Voice rules apply." He picked up the phone and punched the button for line one. "Hello, Craig?" Pause. "I haven't decided if I'm firing you yet, so don't give me a reason to do so. What have I told you about refusing phone calls?" Pause. "Look, I don't care if you're busy. When my office calls--and your phone will tell you it's my office, so don't use that excuse--you _have_ to take the call. And don't put the blame on your receptionist, because I had Chloe dial your direct line. Do I make myself clear?" A longer pause, which made Stephen smile. "Good. Now, I need you to activate the K2C pages." Stephen frowned at the next pause. "I'm thinking of reasons to fire you…" Another pause made Stephen smile. "Twenty minutes? Great. Thanks." He turned to Gwen. "Still want to know what the Scary Voice was?"

"Not really. _You_ can be scary enough."

Stephen laughed. "True enough. Let's get some lunch."

As they got to Chloe's desk, she held up the phone. "Randall Jackson."

Stephen took the call. "How's it going, Randall?" Pause. "Yeah, just wanted to give you a head's up that K2C is going on line in the next few minutes, and you'll be getting a ton of phone calls." Pause. "Oh, stop it, you live for these sorts of things." Stephen laughed at the unheard answer. "Let me know if you need anything else. Thanks." He handed the phone back to Chloe. "I'm off to lunch; forward anything important to my cell."

"Does that include other harem calls?"

"Use your best judgment." With that, he quickly steered Gwen out of the office.

"Harem?" Gwen asked as they reached the elevator.

"Don't ask," he responded, gesturing for her to enter the open elevator car.

The elevator doors closed, and Gwen took a breath. "Stephen?"

"Mm-m?" he responded, checking text messages and calendar information on his cell phone.

She smiled wide. "He's dreamy."

Now even the normally cool Stephen Cranston had to admit this was going a bit too far. "_Gwen_!"

* * *

"How many ads have you bought for out of city advertising?" Mayor Timman asked Stephen as the billionaire and his date noshed on bruschetta.

"Enough for my own business this year," Stephen answered. "Why?"

"Tourism money is down, the economy's got everyone jittery, and I'm asking the…well, the _responsible_ money men in town to pick up more interest from out of state."

"Well, I'm happy to help, but you don't want my ideas."

"And why is that?" Timman pressed.

"It's not just that out-of-state businesses won't come to the city, it's that they literally can't. Too damned expensive. Good thing I stopped being able to count my millions _years_ ago to care about that. But nobody who's successful in the business world outside of Wall Street wants to come back in _here_. They're in the 'burbs now. But so are their customers."

Timman looked at Stephen as if he suddenly had one eye, one horn, and was secretly a flying purple people eater.

Stephen by now was about to finish his first martini. "You want people to come here? You don't talk up businesses; you talk up their customers. You don't talk up things they're already familiar with in the 'burbs; you talk up This City." He popped the olive from the martini in his mouth to punctuate his point.

Timman was annoyed with the theatrics, but reminded himself that the whole reason he'd come to Cranston, hat in hand, in the first place was because of the rumor that Stephen Cranston had more money than God, so he'd better at least appear willing to listen to the man's sermon. "Anything in particular?"

"Start with the basics. New York's the place to be. More people live in a square mile of this city than in ten times the space anywhere else. The entire planet moves to and through Manhattan at some point in their lives, even if they're not physically moving through here. They know our history. They watch TV shows that capture our vibe, our character. They watch major sports teams win championships; they watched two towers crumble; they already know our ecstasy and agony, They can call out practically every skyscraper in the city and every building around Central Park--and they've still not seen every landmark we've got. Famous people everywhere…and ones you'll never see anywhere else. Take Gwen's new friend…what's his name?"

"Spider-Man!" she piped up. "He's amazing! I can't even believe he exists, and he's _ours_! He's a New York fixture bigger than anything anybody can dream up…"

"Which reminds me," Timman interrupted. "Who the Hell is the sponsor of that Times Square ad with 'NY hearts Spider-Man', and who's going to be giving him the key to the city Friday?"

"Somebody with a lot more brains than your PR department," Stephen remarked wryly. "Ever checked how many Spider-Man T-Shirts and Spidey merchandise those street vendor-types sell all day? I'll bet revenue from _those_ things ought to prop up the budget for a few days."

Timman again looked as if Stephen had just announced he was from another planet. "You want me to talk up Spider-Man as a Tourist attraction?"

Stephen shook his head. "Don't advertise him. Claim him. There's your draw card. New York, home of the one and only Spider-Man."

"My legal team is divided on this guy," the Mayor explained.

"I know the feeling," Stephen said with a glance at Gwen, who found something fascinating to look at on her plate.

"The law says he's a vigilante," Timman explained. "But the legal experts, the lawyers and the newspapers…yourself included…"

Stephen nodded acknowledgement.

"All of them say that the crime rate has been reduced significantly, people feel safer when they see him, and all of the actual arrests are made by police officers. He just subdues them. They've been officially declared citizen's arrests."

"So where's the harm?" Stephen said.

"I don't have to tell you how quickly the wind changes," Timman said patiently. "The public has a short memory. Politicians, reporters, businessmen, they have long memories and longer reaches. I back the masked man and he screws up, there will be a very loud thud when I hit the floor, and it's an election year."

"When is it not an election year?" Stephen shook his head. "Public opinion is squarely behind him. Check again after the Shuttle Crash finishes its news cycle--he'll be bigger than Elvis."

"I give him the official seal of the City of New York, and I've given him the practical authority. Nobody even knows his name! I tell him that I support him and he might start using it. He could speak up against me. I don't know where he stands on taxes, where he stands on government, where he stands on law enforcement even. I can't just tell him that I've got his back."

"Why not?" Gwen said suddenly.

Both of them looked at her, and she took a deep breath. "Spider-Man was a new thing, and people mistrusted him. I know, because I was one of them. I was certain he was a menace, I was sure he should be strung up by his webs. Everybody did. The _Bugle_ especially, and even the people he saved blamed him. But through all that, he never blinked, he never wavered. He just…kept protecting us. He never let the city down; he never let the people he was protecting down. If he'd listened to what the papers, what the lawyers, what the police, and what the politicians said of him when he first showed up, he would have given up and left. But he didn't. And the city's better for it. The people who spoke against him went silent, because none of them can admit they were wrong, and they know that nobody believes him evil any more," She glanced at Stephen. "Not even me."

Timman was looking at her darkly, feeling cornered.

Stephen was peering over Timman's shoulder at the activity going on outside the restaurant. "Looks like somebody's about to hold a press conference."

Timman turned around…and there, before him, sure enough, was a podium for a press conference, and one local newsperson was checking her hair, while a stand-in that Timman would have sworn was an off-Broadway actor stood at the podium allowed pro photographers to adjust their focus and light sources. There were a lot of Spider-Man sweatshirts, T-shirts, jackets, etc. on the pedestrians and reporters alike.

"Could be your NY-hearts-Spidey guy," Stephen suggested. "Shall we join them?"

The busboys arrived with three lunch-sized entrees. "And skip our lunch?" Timman protested.

Stephen turned to the waiter. "Box these up for us, please." Then he smiled mysteriously at Timman. "Let's go."

Timman would have protested, but he really _was_ dying to find out who decided that NY heart-ed Spidey, so he quickly found himself following Stephen and Gwen right out the door.

* * *

The typical gaggle of reporters which always followed the Mayor was waiting at the side of the road near his limo when they spotted him coming out of the restaurant and heading for the podium. "Mr. Mayor, do you have any comments about the recent shift in your support of Spider-Man?" one of them shouted as the hoard descended upon the Mayor and his lunch guests.

The Mayor's eyes widened, even as his security detail pushed the reporters back.

By this time, Stephen had already reached the podium. "Members of the press corps," he said into the open mike, "if you'll take your position behind the first set of barricades, we'll be starting this press conference shortly, including a statement on the Mayor's position regarding Spider-Man."

Timman glared at Stephen but tried to keep his expression even. Now he knew Stephen Cranston wasn't a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater, and he wasn't from another planet. No, Stephen Cranston was the biggest, baddest, and savviest confidence man in history, because he was pulling off a con so big that Charles Ponzi would be frustrated that he hadn't thought of it first.

Meanwhile, the reporters had moved back to the barricades as requested and the cameras started rolling.

"Thank you," Stephen stated. "For those of you who don't already know me, my name is Stephen Cranston, CEO of Cranston Industries, and I'm here today speaking on behalf of the office of the Mayor of New York. As part of our community outreach and our dedication to the city of New York, our PR division has been coordinating the advertising campaign related to the 'NY Loves Spider-Man' events, including press coverage of Friday's Key to the City ceremony."

Now Timman knew he'd been screwed. But he kept his face taut as Stephen kept talking.

"When Green Goblin attacked Unity Day in 2002, leaving over a dozen of New York's finest dead as well as generating untold damage done in an act of unprovoked terrorism, it was Spider-Man who fought him back." He paused briefly, letting the crowd rumble out approval. "When Dr. Octopus went mad, nearly obliterating the city in a moment of inconceivable selfishness, it was Spider-Man who brought him around, saving the city again." Another deliberate beat, another swell of approval, stronger this time. "And, for several years, I wrote about the activities of our most prominent costumed superhero in the page of the New York _Classic_. Since the death of my uncle, I have moved on from writing about Spider-Man, but I have never lost sight of the fine work he does for the citizens of this city. In conjunction with the office of the Mayor of New York City, we began an advertising campaign to not only acknowledge Spider-Man and his heroism, but to proudly claim him as one of our own. You've all seen the ads on the Times Square Jumbotron. Now it is time to the officials of this city to come forward and say what the people of this town have been saying for years: New York Loves Spider-Man." He paused while whistles and applause came from the crowd gathered for the press conference. "Friday morning at 10:00 AM Eastern, we will officially kick off New York's newest advertising campaign with a ceremony presenting a key to the home of one of the world's greatest superheroes, and New York's favorite son…Spider-Man. For more information on Friday's program plus press materials and a schedule of other events, you can go to and click on "NY Loves Spider-Man" for a full description of the campaign, or you can contact 1-800-CRANSTON and select 'Public Relations' from the list of options. Neither the mayor nor I will be taking questions at this time. See you all Friday at the ceremony!"

Applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, while reporters who had somehow missed the "Neither the mayor nor I will be taking questions at this time" part shouted questions at the Mayor and the Billionaire, who were now huddled together away from open mikes.

"I won't forget this," Timman gritted out.

"Eight Months from the election," Stephen reminded him. "And I'm spending my money, not yours, so don't cop any attitude with me. Check the polls next week. If I haven't just handed you re-election, then you can sue me if you want." He held out a take-out bag. "Don't forget your lunch."

The Mayor snatched up his bag and gave a nod to his security detail, and they departed.

Stephen and Gwen slipped back to Moe's waiting cab. Gwen was giving him a grin. "Don't start," Stephen said, smothering a smirk.

"K2C. Key to City." She shook her head. "Remind me never to play poker with you."

"I quit playing poker years ago. I had an unfair advantage." He kept his expression even as he checked the calendar on his cell phone. "What's your schedule look like Friday?"

She couldn't help but giggle. "Well, I'll probably be at the Key to the City thing with the rest of Spidey's groupies."

"Keep your plans open. That's all I'm saying right now."

Gwen just stared at him, not sure she really believed what she realized he might be saying.

His cell phone rang. "Stephen Cranston."

"Your insane groupies are on lines one and two," Chloe reported. "Apparently they've been watching the news."

"Tell them I'll call them back when I get there." He hung up the phone and looked at Gwen. "You have to get back to class, right?"

"Unless you can make Dr. Connors forget that I owe a paper on…"

"Don't even go there."

Gwen laughed as the cab pulled out into traffic.

* * *

Chloe was waiting for him at the lobby while building security held back the throng of reporters at Stephen's subconscious suggestion. "What the Hell is going on with you?" she snapped, her tone even more hostile than usual.

"What?" Stephen asked, genuinely blindsided.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would have liked to be there."

Stephen looked at her, stunned. "Really?"

"I've been getting phone calls from everywhere! There are ten reporters waiting for you when we come off the elevator upstairs. Your other two groupies are in your office, and all I can tell them is that I had no idea what you were doing! I'm a fan of Spidey too, and you had me making phone calls to get PR and IS to do your bidding for this whole thing, and you didn't even let me come watch!"

Stephen sighed. "Sorry, Chloe. I honestly didn't think…"

"Not going there, and not going to let you keep me on the bench when you're planning stuff like this. Mr. Cranston--you'll notice I'm doing my best to be respectful--I am not just someone who can harass department heads and trade quips with you. And that's why you picked me out of the call center. I helped you put three execs in their place in my first hours on the job, and you knew I could do it. Don't leave me out of stuff like this, because it makes me think you really _do_ think I'm just a Doberman that can type and remember how you like your coffee. "

Stephen looked at her plainly. "No. I don't think that at all." He started walking toward the elevators.

Chloe was hot on his heels and suddenly seemed embarrassed, because she knew this was _not_ a man you could push too far. "Look, I didn't mean to imply you were some kind of mean-spirited SOB…"

"Yes, you did." He got on the elevator.

She jumped on the elevator with him and swiped her badge across the sensor before punching in the numbers for the top floor. "Look…you do more in a day than that sorry excuse for a mayor whose ass you just covered back there does with a whole term in office. I've had billionaires, politicians, doctors, and, yes, insane groupies you don't even know about begging me to let them go into your office, and I know for a fact that I'm one of the few people in this building you actually say 'good morning' to and actually mean it. I went with you when you opened that women's shelter. I went with you when you added that whole computer lab to the inner-city school in Queens, I went with you when you donated the new children's wing to the hospital, and I had total strangers in tears telling me how grateful they were…I know you're not some mean-spirited SOB. In fact, you're about the most gracious, most kind, most…most _just_ man I've ever met, because you really give a damn about doing what's right, not what's expedient."

Stephen smiled at her, and for the first time since they met, she blushed. "Look, I dropped out of high school and started temping. Your phone bank is like the thirtieth job I'd taken, then you just sort of…if you had told me then that I'd end up here, well, let's just say I love my job."

"I didn't want you to feel left out. And I'm sorry you felt that way."

"Look, it's not like I really _deserve_ to go any of those places you go, and I know not many execs let there secretaries do those sorts of things with them and not just have them there to keep them on schedule. I'm just saying, I've lived in New York my whole life, and Spider-Man…I would have liked to come along today."

Stephen watched the numbers rising as the elevator car neared the top floor of Cranston Tower. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Read this to me."

Confused, Chloe did so. "For years now the city of New York has-"

"Good."

The elevator came to a stop, and suddenly Stephen and Chloe were surrounded by the gaggle of reporters she said had been awaiting his return. They took a step back at a silent suggestion, allowing the hypnotelepathic businessman and his human-Doberman secretary to step out of the car and let the doors close behind them. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "This is my personal assistant, Miss Chloe Bryant, whom you undoubtedly had the pleasure of meeting earlier. She will be reading a statement on behalf of Cranston Industries and myself, and she will be taking no questions." With that, he stepped forward.

The crowd parted as he walked through them, but as soon as he passed they immediately turned back to Chloe and fired up video cameras and tape recorders.

Chloe smiled. Now _this_ was power. She'd have to remember this feeling the next time Stephen gave her permission to use the Scary Voice.

* * *

As promised, Sarah and MJ were back in his office waiting for him, and thanks to the reporters mobbing Chloe, neither of them had to worry about bringing along shock sticks in order to to jump the boss' bones right then and there.

MJ was first into his arms. "Mister, am I gonna give you something good for that one!" she was practically singing.

Stephen spun her in his arms, lifted her into the air, gave her a light toss, and caught her again. "Like that, you mean?"

"Move over sister," Sarah growled, but more sex kitten than lioness. "I saw him first."

"Like Hell you did!" MJ objected. "I've got about a year's seniority on you, so don't even try it."

"She's got a point," Stephen agreed.

Sarah grabbed his head and planted a kiss on those lips to shut him up, and hoped his brain would deep fry before his mental voice could make up for lost time.

It almost worked. "**_I think the phone is ringing._**"

Sarah broke the kiss. "Dammit."

Stephen gave a look at the speakerphone, and the button clicked by itself.

Sarah was impressed. Stephen's psyche was _never_ that subtle. And for some reason, she found that incredibly sexy.

Stephen found his physical voice again after catching his breath from the kiss. "Hello?"

"Dude, go ahead and pick out any spider power you like, and I'll find a way to give it to you," Peter's voice said into the line. Stephen could almost hear his partner geeking out. "Connors owes us both one."

"Keep your nose clean for another day, and this time Friday you'll have the key to the city presented to you by a gorgeous woman," Stephen laughed.

"My nose will be so clean you'll be able to see your reflection in it."

Stephen cringed slightly. "I hate mirrors."

Peter laughed. "Seriously, man, I knew you were the one behind the ad campaign, but to get the Mayor involved, too? That was the coolest thing in history. At least now I'm pretty sure I'll never be threatened with arrest any more. What can I do to repay you?"

"Well, I've always wondered what the suit would look like in black."

"Anything but that."

MJ was grinning broadly at Stephen. "Seriously, I'm going to talk to the producers and find out if they can fit a new song for you into the show," she promised.

"See if they can work 'Me and My Shadow' into the soundtrack," Sarah suggested.

"Oh, I hate that song," MJ and Stephen said almost simultaneously.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Peter, can you come here and kill one of them for me?"

"I couldn't, Sarah. I love 'em both too much," Peter laughed over the phone line.

A knock on the door to Stephen's office got all of there attention. He gave everyone in the room a "sh-h" gesture, then called out, "Come in, Chloe."

Chloe peeked inside. "Your newspapers are here. Where do you want 'em?"

"Not now," Stephen said.

"I'll take 'em," MJ replied. With the Space Shuttle crash yesterday, most of the town's papers had left out their usual Arts sections this morning, so she was anxious to see the afternoon editions to read her reviews.

Stephen and Sarah stared at each other as MJ reached for the papers. Stephen picked up the phone. "Peter, hang on for a minute. I think somebody you know and love will want to share some news with you."

Peter hated being on the phone and not able to tell from Stephen's body language why he'd suddenly gotten so cautious. "Sure," he said, attributing the change in tone to concern about the reviews, which was ridiculous because MJ was great…

Stephen quietly put the line on hold and hung up the receiver and made eye contact with Sarah.

MJ was staring into the New York _Post_, the first one on the stack, and was apparently so gut-punched by what she read, that she didn't even notice Sarah slipping past her quietly out the door. Stephen stared at her sympathetically. He could play the whole city like a string-puppet at yet... MJ had been so happy just a second ago.

Stephen gently took the remaining papers from her hand and gave a telekinetic tap to the speakerphone to bring Line One back into the conversation. "Peter's still here, MJ," he said. "I'll leave you two alone for a few minutes."

MJ tried to hide the tears in her eyes as she thanked him.

Stephen shut the door.

MJ read the words one more time to make sure this wasn't just a bad dream. "Peter?"

"MJ," her longtime love answered.

"The review," MJ said sadly. "They hated it…they hated me."

Peter's confusion was evident. "They can't hate you," he said. It was like saying that two and two equaled one. Impossible. Defying reality.

MJ appreciated that he had her on a pedestal, but right that second it was patronizing. To make the point she read it aloud. "The young Miss Watson is a pretty girl. Easy on they eyes but not on the ears. Her small voice didn't carry past the first row."

"That's ridiculous--I was there," Peter protested.

"You were in the first row!"

She could hear Peter's reassuring smile. "Listen, that's a critic. You were great," he said patiently. "This is something you're gonna have to get used to. Believe me, I know. Spider-Man gets attacked all the time."

He intended the comparison to make her feel better. But at that moment, MJ felt worse than ever. In her head, she knew that this was Peter Parker…a man who lived on nothing for many years, risked his life for total strangers, and in return was vilified by the press and scorned by her as just another man who'd let her down. But she wasn't a masked man facing off against a bad Press Agent and an Evil Critic looking to shock and scare people into buying papers; she was a budding actress who had been cut down to size by the experts in her chosen field. And worse, this was an opinion piece, so it wasn't as if Peter's version of Truth, Justice, and the American Way was going to make everything all better. In fact, the only thing she thought might make it better if Stephen and his .45s went down to the _Post_'s office and started ventilating their theatre reviewer. "This isn't about you!" MJ snapped, still fighting the tears in her eyes, feeling frustration on top of heartbreak. "This is about me, and my career."

"I know, and I'm saying you can't let it bring you down," Peter said with a cheerful tone, but even she could tell he was completely unable to relate. One time, her hairdresser had decided she might look good with a more strawberry blonde tone to her hair, but the results were so bad she'd worn a wig for weeks until enough hair had grown out to cut off the bad blonde and get extensions put in. He was just so damned cheerful about how great her hair looked, and even she'd gotten sick of the pretence and went to Stephen to get the honest opinion about how she looked like some hideously painted Maltese that celebrities carried in order to counter the saccharine sweetness from a man who could make her feel like a hot fudge sundae with triple whipped cream on top.

Meanwhile, Peter was still babbling. "You gotta pull yourself together and get right back on the horse."

_Oh, God, now he's moved on to clichés now?_ "Don't give me the horse thing!" she snapped. "Try and understand how I feel."

Peter went silent for the first time in the entire exchange, like he knew he was in trouble and had to choose his words carefully. "MJ…"

"I'm sorry," MJ said quietly. "It's just…I've never put myself out like this before professionally. I wanted to act. Singing was something new. And…it took me a while to get over that first rejection acting-wise, even after I found out it was because of Stephen…"

"I know," Peter agreed. "I still haven't fully forgiven him for that, you know."

"Me neither," MJ agreed. "Look, can I see you tonight?"

Another pause, and MJ automatically knew it was because Spidey was putting others first before her. She'd given him permission to do that--in fact, she'd finally been able to give permission because she'd known only that kind of selflessness could possibly keep them together forever…but _tonight_, of all nights…

Sure enough, he had a whole list of reasons for going off to save the world from crashing and burning while his ladylove's heart crashed and burned. "I've got to do a photo-op with John for the _Classic_. Sarah's going to pretend to take pictures, and if it runs long, I'll have her do Full Force Ditzy Chick mode to run him off. Right now, though, I'm about to blow off class to face off with JJ about Spider-Man actually saving his son. I _will_ be there for you tonight. I promise."

"O.K."

"Love you."

"Love you, too." MJ hung up the phone and just stared at the paper, over and over and over, until she became aware another set of eyes were staring over her shoulder at the paper. She whirled around. "Were you listening to all that?" MJ demanded emotionally.

"No," Stephen said lightly. "But I can, you know."

"Oh. Right." Now she was feeling foolish on top of heartbreak on top of frustration.

Stephen put down a takeout box in front of her. "Put that aside and stare at this instead."

She threw the newspaper aside and found a hot fudge sundae with triple whipped cream in the takeout box. "O.K. Now I _know_ you read my mind for that one."

"No, you ordered one the other night and we spent 15 minutes sweating it off afterward."

"That's what _you_ called it."

"O.K., we are _definitely_ not going there right now because Chloe's gone off to give another press conference, and I may have to rescue my company from her reputation any minute now." He handed her a spoon and dug into the sundae with her.

MJ huffed but downed a bite of ice cream anyway. "Well, thanks for that at least." She rubbed her eyes. "Peter tells me you can use your mind to project your voice. Think you can teach me?"

Stephen chuckled. "Tricky, given you aren't telepathic."

"I know. I'm the only member of the group without a super-power or super-skill." She sighed. "It sucks to be powerless, you know."

"Powerless? A week ago, we were calling you Don MJ Corleone."

MJ wiped her eyes again. "I guess," she moped, soothing her feelings with another bite of ice cream. "O.K., I've got to get out of here and go order Sonny and Fredo to have the critic shot. Then maybe do me next. "

"Come on. You don't want them doing you."

MJ looked at him, as if she couldn't believe he was dangling such a straight line.

He rolled his eyes. "Go not this place," he ordered.

"Too late," she responded.

He gave her a light smile. "You know, you're smiling now."

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection from Stephen's black-glazed windows. "Yeah. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

Stephen looked confused. "Not tonight? We had plans."

"I know, but I'm canceling them, and I think you probably understand why." She gave him a wink. "Tomorrow, though. UTUP."

Stephen couldn't help but smile. "UTUP" was their acronym for "Usual Time, Usual Place". There were different UTUPs for different days of the week, and he enjoyed them all no matter when or where they were. "See you then."

* * *

Betty Brant was not a woman people understood easily. On first impression, there was very little not to like about her, though she seemed to be a rather average person leading a rather average life. Then you found out what she did for a living, and more importantly, under who's management, and immediately one would wonder how in the world such a nice, simple, average woman could stand spending every day working as the secretary to the Editor in Chief of the _Daily Bugle_. That is, unless one worked at the _Bugle_ itself. Those who did, particularly everyone on the newsroom floor, agreed that Betty Brant, sweetheart of the _Daily Bugle_, was merely biding her time until she was satisfied that she had fully rehearsed the perfect murder of one J. Jonah Jameson.

When asked how she could stand working for Jameson, Betty would say only that she was the one person that Jameson had not threatened to fire yet. She would never share the reason for this, but it was a simple one. While everyone at the paper feared Jameson's rants, to her they had been reduced to white noise. On the other hand, other people could bring fresh new misery to her desk. But, since nobody liked being within the Boss' line of sight, and since her desk was within that very boundary, very rarely did she have to contend with such headaches.

One such headache had just arrived at her desk, however, and worse, he actually thought he was being charming.

Eddie Brock almost tap-danced his way up to Betty's desk, and Betty hardened her face evenly. The look on her face was clear: _Thou Shalt Not Pass._

Brock, however, was prepared to attempt to tread upon hallowed ground. "Betty-Betty-bo-Betty-Banana-nana-bo-Betty!" Brock sing-songed.

"He's busy," Betty said flatly. She didn't even need to ask what Brock wanted. He always wanted the same thing--to peddle his terrible photos of "newsworthy" events.

"Oh, no, I'm just here to talk to you, beautiful!" Brock said, completely ignoring the stone wall that had instantly appeared between Jameson's door and himself.

Betty started to spell it out for him, when her nose wrinkled. "What's that smell?"

Brock smiled, pleased she had noticed. "That's a little something I like to call 'Nice and Easy'," He chuckled. "What's on you?"

"It's called 'Go Away'," Betty answered him.

The door to Jameson's office exploded open. Hoffman, one of Jameson's yes-men fled, while ducking, as Jameson screamed insults regarding his intelligence, his education, his parentage after him.

"Blood pressure!" Betty yelled at Jameson with equal volume.

Jameson turned to stalk back into his office irritably, and Brock managed to duck through the closing doors before Betty could collar him.

She briefly considered chasing him in, when she saw movement out the corner of her eyes, and spun to disembowel whoever was stupid enough to bother her right then. "Pete!" Betty Brant suddenly blurted out, immediately retracting her claws.

"Last time I checked," Peter smiled, happy to see his old friend.

Betty stood up to give him a quick hug. "You look good. A regular paycheck must agree with you."

"Hasn't disagreed yet," Peter confirmed. "Look at you! I would have wagered that by now you'd have snapped and murdered the old Buzzsaw."

"Oh, I make do," Betty waved that off primly. "For instance, whenever I get annoyed, I tell him is wife is on line one. With any luck I'll push him to spontaneous combustion yet."

Peter laughed.

"But there's a new way to torment old buzzard breath. Wanna watch?" Betty asked eagerly, pointing inside the office at Jameson.

Spider-Man's #1 tormentor still looked about like Peter remembered. He started to be nervous about even being in the man's presence, then reminded himself there wasn't anything Jameson could do to him any more that his friends in high places couldn't undo. Nevertheless, he made sure he was out of Jameson's range of sight. "Sure."

With great and elaborate ceremony, Betty pushed the intercom button theatrically.

The #BZZ!# was audible through the glass, and Jameson jumped. He sent a look at Betty.

"Time to take your pill," Betty announced oh-so-politely.

Jameson reached for one of the twelve-odd prescriptions on his desk.

#BZZ!# "Not that one," Betty told him.

Jameson reached for another bottle.

#BZZ!# "Not that one either."

With great care, Jameson carefully pointed at one, and looked to his assistant for approval. She nodded with a proud smile.

Jameson let out a breath and opened the bottle.

Betty took a breath, with all the elaborate presentation of an orchestra conductor, and pressed the intercom again dramatically.

Jameson jumped and tiny white pills went everywhere at the sound of the #BZZ!#. He sent her a furious look.

Betty just smiled back. "Drink plenty of water."

With excruciating control, every tiny movement taking slow and deliberate time, Jameson carefully pressed his own intercom button. "Thank you," he said with quiet enunciation, then glared and returned his attention to whomever was brave or stupid enough to be in there with him.

"What are those pills for?" Peter asked.

"Blood pressure," Betty answered.

Both of them laughed, loud and long.

"Anyway, what's new with you?" Betty asked him. "I lost track of you after you left for the _Classic_. Did you leave there, too?"

"Nah, I went back to school. _Classic_'s got me on a sabbatical officially, and I write the odd news story and take the odd photo in exchange for the time off."

"Must be expensive."

Peter shrugged. "I've lived off half pay long enough to hack it."

"The Crew Cut was hanging from the rafters by his teeth thinking he'd finally broken the competition, until he saw another Spidey photo on the front page of the _Classic_." She lowered her voice. "Settle a bet for me. Were you the one feeding Cranston superhero stories?"

"Of course not. Why?"

"Because the _Classic_ is still getting them, and I've met Branson."

"You don't like Sarah?"

"I like her, fine…it's just that…well, you don't find her to be a little; what would the polite euphemism be? Stupid?"

"Ditzy."

"That's it. Ditzy. She's taken over Cranston's job, but she's still getting Shadow and Spidey stories. Seriously, how does she do it? Are you sleeping with her?

Peter drew back and laughed. "No!" Then he calmed down. "Look, she's a lot smarter than she looks. She and I are working on the Shuttle Crash story together." He looked around, noticing that Brock wasn't standing there trying to pimp his sorry excuses for news photos, so Betty must have already broomed the pesky rodent. "She'd actually be here with me if she hadn't seen Brock coming in."

Betty rolled her eyes. "Met him before, has she?"

"Yep. Listen, can I get two minutes? I'm putting together piece on the Shuttle Crash and I wanted to get a statement."

Betty stared at him. "_You_ want to ask J. Jonah Jameson about how he feels about Spider-Man saving the life of his son?

"And on Friday's Spider-Man Day celebration."

"Can I watch?" Betty asked eagerly.

Peter chuckled. "Might be wiser to stay on this side of the glass."

Betty chuckled. "Ah, well if you're here to try and sell Jameson on the Spider-Man Day ideal, you better get in there."

"Oh? Why?"

"Move fast."

The last time Betty had given him directions like that, his job was on the line. He stepped to it, and rushed into Jameson's office.

But amazingly, the crew cut cigar smoking rage-a-holic was not the first thing that turned his stomach.

"Brock!" Peter blurted.

The slimy man in the cheap coat and the short spiky blond hair swaggered a look over his shoulder. "Parker."

"Parker!" Jameson barked. "What're you doing here?"

"Not that we aren't really glad to see you, buddy," Brock schmoozed. "Because I was just talking about you here. I was just telling The Boss, all about how I really looked up to you. After all, you were the best this paper had, bringing up the circulation like you did with those Spider-Man photos."

Peter smiled smugly. "Just in the right place at the right time."

Brock hadn't even paused. "It took a billionaire himself to lure you away, and nobody could really bring it all back…" Deep breath. "…to the home and hall, of _this_ Man right here!" He brought up the intensity of his monologue some, pointing at Jameson, pausing dramatically before dropping the clincher. "Until now."

And with that, Brock handed Jameson a set of Spider-Man photos from the crane accident, with a flourish.

Dead silence.

Jameson took in the photos carefully, then sent a glance at Peter. "They're as good as yours, Parker," he said, then smiled like a shark. "Cheaper, too."

Peter rolled his eyes.

Jameson looked at Brock. "I'll take 'em. Give you fifty bucks."

Even Jameson was momentary stunned by the rapture that crossed Brock's face. "Oh, all right!" Brock cheered. "JJ, I'm your man." He dropped straight back into the used-car routine. "I know more about what makes a good picture than any photographer in this town. See, photography is more than just being in the right place at the right time." He sent Parker a quick look and a slightly derisive chuckle before taking off again. "It's about lighting, composition, drama." He took a breath, not the least bit put off by the fact that Jameson was no longer even paying attention to the photos, which he'd handed off to City Editor Robbie Robertson for his evaluation. Jameson was instead frowning at something Betty was making him sign.

Even Peter knew that when Betty Brant came into the office, if you hadn't already been given permission to stay, that meant it was time to leave. But Brock wasn't that smart. "I want a staff job, sir," he laid it out. "I have this great girl, that I intend to marry, and I guess…" He suddenly ducked his head, with a small smile, like he was confessing an embarrassing childhood secret.

Peter's eyes had bulged_. He better not mean Gwen. Wait till I tell Stephen; we'll flip for him._

Brock had suddenly worked up the nerve to confess his 'childhood secret.' "I guess I just have this silly little dream of working with one of the greatest newspaper editors of our time…" He paused for effect again as his voice modulated to open awe-struck reverence as he spoke the name. "…J. Jonah Jameson."

Beat of silence. Robbie, Betty, and Peter all looked in disbelief at Brock's impossible gall.

Jameson of course, ate it up. He was finally focusing on Brock, and waved Betty away without even looking at her. "Well, we do have an opening. Johnson quit."

"You fired him," Robbie put in.

"Whatever."

Peter stalked out, resolving to wait until Brock was elsewhere before bringing his business back to Jameson's desk. Even a superhero couldn't take this much stomach-turning tripe.

* * *

Several minutes passed as Peter stood outside at Betty's desk, trying to consider whether he wanted to congratulate Brock or warn Jameson what he'd gotten himself into, until Brock finally left the office, and not even the normally peppy Betty Brant had the energy to welcome the paper's newest employee.

Peter didn't acknowledge him as he went inside with Betty's full permission. "Jonah."

Jameson looked up. "Parker? You still here?"

"It may have escaped your attention, but Spider-Man saved your son's life last night," Peter explained. "I'm here on behalf of the _Classic_ to see if you have a statement, given your history with the wall-crawler."

Jameson let out a bark of laughter. "Yeah, he stages a move like that and all of a sudden they're throwing him a parade."

Peter didn't lose his temper. What had he expected? "JJ, Spider-Man saves your own son, and you still call him a crook?"

"Damn right I do. The fact that he would use my own son's tragic accident--not to mention capitalizing on what should have been the news story, my son's brilliant emergency landing of that hunk of junk Tony Stark foisted off on the world--to trick an entire city into worshiping his webs makes me sick. Well, it's tradition for America to make its nastiest villains into folk legends, but Spider-Man made this one personal, Parker. He's already got you acting like one of his Stepford wives, so I've tasked that bright young man out there with the mission of exposing Spider-Man for the public menace he really is."

Peter was speechless. Not even Jameson was _this_ insane…right?

Wrong. "I will not retract anything my paper has published about Spider-Man until it has been disproved. I will not, nor will my son be taking any part in any adulation or celebration of a known felon. And I will not rest until the public has been made to realize the obviousness of the truth. End of statement!"

Peter closed his notebook and stalked out.

* * *

Eddie Brock was just finishing his harassment of Betty Brant when Peter reached her desk. Brock gave Peter a pair of finger-gun points before leaving.

Betty collapsed behind her desk. "O.K., I've made a decision. When I finally do go postal, Brockie over there gets the full magazine treatment."

"Before JJ?" Peter teased.

"Before _anybody_," she growled in reply.

* * *

Dr. Michael Benning had just finished scrubbing out of a three-hour surgery to save the life of one of the many victims of New York's street crime when he spotted a familiar-looking notecard tucked in the pocket of his white coat. He opened the cream envelope and waited for the text to appear.

"Benning -- meet agent in Med-ICU supply closet ASAP."

Benning hoped the agent hadn't been waiting long as he grabbed his white coat off its hook and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Not sure if he should ask if anyone had been looking for him, Benning decided to take a second and see if he could figure out which closet the man could be in. He closed his eyes and let the life energy of the place flow over him. Unlike Sarah Branson, Benning wasn't a clairvoyant. But he _was_ a psychic, with gifts that seemed uniquely tailored to his profession.

Michael Benning had always been sensitive to the sick and a quick diagnostician--even as a young med student, he had a great gift for being able to diagnose conditions he hadn't even learned about when he worked as a resident in the military hospital where he was a rapidly-rising captain in the Army with a straight-A West Point undergrad degree--but in the middle of serving as a combat surgeon in Iraq, as shells went off all around them and casualties were being rushed in, one bomb exploded so hard that it blew a hole in the wall of the facility. At that very moment, something inside his head practically exploded as well, and he found his brain flooded with the sensations of pain and suffering felt by the soldiers and their victims alike. It wasn't just their physical pain; their emotional pain was searing him so badly that it all became too much for him to take, and he collapsed in the middle of Triage and went into a coma. Unable to be treated for his back injury and a presumed head injury by the battlefield hospital, Benning was rushed to the nearest offsite military hospital, and thankfully there someone who understood his condition was able to recommend transfer to Walter Reed Army Hospital back in the U.S. It was only after he emerged from his coma a week later that he met that the doctor who'd sent him back to the states, a man who explained that they were both psychics with the special gift of telepathic empathy. The doctor further explained that he was a graduate of a special training center for psychics called the Temple of the Cobras, and that he would be accompanying Benning to the center so that Benning could continue his recovery from awakening from the coma.

The whole thing was insane. Psychic? Telepathic empathy? This was crazy. No, this was completely and totally insane, beyond belief. But how many times had Benning himself thought he recognized a set of symptoms from an injured soldier that most people would have missed? He could still recall the case of a minorly injured soldier who'd gotten whacked in the chest by a hail of bullets that had fortunately been stopped by his Kevlar vests. The soldier, with a minor bruise on his chest, was complaining of back pain and belly pain, and his blood pressure was a little unstable. Such would normally prompt a field doctor to give anti-inflammatories, acid reflux meds, and maybe a unit of fluids to stabilize the BP, but fortunately the man ended up with Major Benning at his bedside, and before the patient had finished describing his symptoms, he knew the man had a traumatic aortic aneurysm that could kill him at any moment. He had a hard time convincing the chief surgeon, even after doing ultrasound to show where the aneurysm was--and the chief surgeon asked how Benning knew exactly where to put the probe for the best angle, which Benning couldn't explain without sounding like an idiot--but the minute the man was on the operating table, sure enough, he had not only an aortic aneurysm, but one that had just begun to leak. If Benning hadn't known what he was looking for, the soldier would have died. Because Benning knew, the soldier was soon back on his feet and heading home with his military medical discharge. It was the first time Benning realized he just _knew_ what was wrong with his patient, with no real way of knowing. It was also just three days before his brain exploded and left him in a coma.

A week later, Benning was released from Walter Reed--military medical discharge in hand due to the seriousness of the back injury he'd suffered when he collapsed to the floor in Iraq--and had taken the train from Washington, DC, to New York City, changed trains, and headed up to Frost Valley to his new school. There, he met The Marpa Tulku, who explained the whole concept of telepathic awakening, the different kinds of telepathic energy, projective vs. receptive, and more…and that was when Michael learned for the first time that he was a receptive telepathic empath with projective tendencies. His unawakened mind had in the past released small overflows of energy that allowed him to soar ahead in medical school, but now he was a full-blown empath, with all the plusses and minuses that such a status entailed. The Tulku told Benning bluntly that he would have a _lot_ to learn, considering his age at awakening and the strength of his raw powers.

But just six months after arriving at the Temple, Michael Benning had become so expert at using his empathic gifts to sense illness, healing his own body through tumo summoning, and diagnose life-threatening conditions with just a glance at that person's life energies--while at the same time being able to block out any other person's life energy around him, even to the point of being able to block out otherwise healthy signals from other part of a patient's body--that The Tulku felt it was time for him to meet the Temple's benefactor…Stephen Cranston, otherwise known as The Shadow. Stephen had told Benning that one of the things The Shadow needed most in Manhattan was a physician he could trust, and with the untimely death of longtime family doctor Roy Tam, that position needed to be filled ASAP. When Benning explained that he was a trauma surgeon and not a family doctor, he heard The Shadow's chilling laughter for the first time. Thus, Michael Benning had arrived in Manhattan to interview for the position of Director of Trauma Services at St. Vincent's Hospital, and was now not only holding a position that allowed him to use his unique gifts to their fullest, he was now part of the innermost circle of a secret army that worked to fight the crime and villainy that brought much of the trauma he treated to his door.

But right now, he was using that telepathic empathy to find the agent who was waiting to see him…and sure enough, an agent's energy he recognized was nearby. He gave a look around to make sure that no one was looking for him immediately, then ducked into one of the closets and quickly closed the door.

"**_Don't turn on the lights._**"

Benning gave only a slight jump at the sound of that voice inside his head. "I will _never_ get used to that. Have you been waiting long?"

"**_Of course not. I left the note once you started closing the patient._**"

Benning rolled his eyes. "I should have known, but I was too busy scanning the patient and trying to make sure there wasn't anything we missed. What do you need?"

"**_Tell me about Harry Osborn._**"

"Well, I haven't checked his chart since earlier today, but I did an energy scan through the place just a couple of seconds ago, and he's still in Bay 3."

"**_Any reason for that?_**"

"One of the nurses said he started screaming in the middle of the night and woke up in a cold sweat. The nurse asked if he was O.K., and he said he had a bad dream about some kind of goblin chasing him."

"**_Goblin?_**"

"Yeah, thanks for the briefing on that, so I could figure out how best to lie about his ultra-fast healing to my staff. I spent some time during rounds asking him about his father, his family life, his friends, etc., and as far as I could tell he never once lied when I asked him about his friends. He remembers Peter and MJ from high school, he remembers Peter is his best friend and MJ was once his ex-girlfriend, and that's about it. He really doesn't remember anything beyond that." Benning paused for a moment. "Listen, not that I'm trying to tell you how to do your job, but it might have been nice if you'd have let me finish the trauma workup on Osborn before you tried tearing his mind apart. We almost lost him because his life energy kept being swept away."

"**_Couldn't be avoided, because if he'd come around on you too soon, no one there was safe._**"

Benning nodded, seeing the logic. "By the way, am I not supposed to know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man?"

"**_Well, it's not like I could have stopped you from knowing it, considering you figured out that the guy asking about Harry Osborn in the Trauma waiting area and the guy who stopped an out-of-control cement truck from ramming its way through the ER a couple of months back were one and the same because of their energies, but it's best that you not let on to Peter that you know that. And before you ask, yes, he's in the inner circle too._**"

"Got it. Anything else?"

"**_When is Osborn due for release?_**"

"If nothing else happens, he'll be out tomorrow before dinner. Or should I hold him up another lifetime or two?"

"**_Call Stephen Cranston's office before he gets discharged so I'll have a heads-up that will not be coming through the system. My receptionist is somewhat hostile toward anyone coming to my door who doesn't have an appointment._**"

"Will do."

The sound of Benning's pager was especially loud inside the closet, and The Shadow quickly sent a reinforcement of the "ignore the sounds from the closet" suggestion he'd projected earlier. Benning flipped the device open and was able to see the light-up display in the darkness. "'Construction worker hurt at Triborough Bridge -- arriving in 5,'" he read. "I need to go now."

"**_On your way, then._**"

Benning carefully opened the closet door to make sure nobody was coming, not realizing The Shadow had already done a broadcast hypno-warning to ignore Benning's presence in the ward.

Thus, no one noticed the Trauma Chief running out of Med-ICU with a shadow of a man in a slouch hat and long cloak trailing him.

* * *

Stephen had no sooner ditched The Shadow's cloak under his seat in the cab when his cell phone started ringing. "**_Remind me to kill the inventor of the cell phone,_**" he told his cabbie, then answered it when he saw the calling number. "Hello, Sarah."

"You're not with MJ tonight?" she said in a not-so-teasing tone.

"Busy. Is there a reason for this call or is it just a status update on your tracking skills?"

"Thought you might like to know Eddie Brock now works for the _Bugle_. JJ's got him on the anti-Spider-Man team."

"I thought you hated Brock. What made you spy on that one?"

"I didn't. Peter told me after he ran into the cockroach while trying to get a quote from JJ about Spidey saving John Jameson from the shuttle crash. Said JJ's got his vendetta hat on again."

"Oh, joy. Rapture. This should be fun."

"Especially Friday at Spidey Day."

"Especially." Stephen paused. "For some reason, the _Classic_ doesn't have a review of MJ's play."

Sarah was caught off-guard. "You think I had something to do with that?"

"I know you did."

She sighed. "Guilty as charged. Our media critic is out of the country, and since Clyde Burke knew I was going to the show, he asked me to do the writeup. I came back from it and told him I couldn't hang a fellow agent out to dry like that. He agreed to trash my review and wait for Joey to get back from his honeymoon."

"Probably a good idea."

"Stephen, she was _horrible_."

"She really was. I thought the _Post_ review was actually kind." He sighed. "This is going to put a damper on her mood Friday."

"Speaking of which, I'm also covering Spidey Day for the _Classic_. This time I hope I won't have to let another agent off the hook."

Stephen smirked. "Good night, Sarah."

* * *

The next morning, MJ was hurrying to cross the street to the Broadhurst Theater when her cell phone rang. "Hello?" she said, somewhat breathless.

"MJ?" Gwen called sharply. "What didn't you tell me? Why didn't Peter tell me? Why didn't _anyone_ tell _me_?"

_Wow, that could mean anything_. MJ thought. "Tell you what?"

"They want me to give Spider-Man the key to the City at this party Friday, so I've been up all night trying to write an introduction for him."

"O.K," MJ said. _Sure it's O.K.,_ she mentally seethed. _Gwen Stacy is giving him the key to the city, in front of God and everybody else?_ Then she calmed down enough to not yell at Gwen in her ear. _Stay on topic, MJ!_ she ordered herself. "So, what's wrong?"

"I'm reading the old news stories about Spider-Man, and you're in lots of them."

MJ blinked. "I am?"

"Goblin, Hydroman, Octavius. Every supervillain that ever hit New York has kidnapped you."

_No kidding,_ MJ thought clinically. "How…I mean…"

"How do I know this?" Gwen pressed with biting sarcasm. "Well gee, let me think, there's a photo of you on the Balcony next to Harry Osborn at Goblin's first attack. There are photos of you in the obituary column the day Hydroman appeared and photos the next day saying that you weren't dead. There are photos of you on the Queensboro Bridge…twice…while the Green Goblin tore it apart. There's a reward for your rescue in the Daily Bugle after Dr. Octopus apparently kidnaps you as bait for Spider-Man. And the thing is, all the photos are bad, and your name doesn't appear half as many times as they should. Explain this. Now."

MJ rubbed her head. Damn. Stephen's adopted big sister had been digging. "I was with Harry for that first attack. After that I was with Peter…and since Peter took Spider-Man photos when nobody else could, the bad guys who wanted to fight Spidey needed him. They used me to get to Peter to get to Spider-Man," She licked her lips. "Peter wanted to play down the fact that you could use me as Spider-Man bait, so Stephen and his Uncle did what they could to kill the press stories with my name in it."

"Yeah, something Peter didn't tell me. That's how this works. Everybody tells everybody everything but me!" Gwen shouted, very upset. "MJ…why the Hell aren't you the most famous woman in New York? You're Spider-Man's answer to Lois Lane! You sat there a month ago while I tore apart Spider-Man and nearly got you killed because I was being stupid, and Sarah and Peter and Stephen were all in the room and _nobody_ said _anything_ to _me_! Do you get how much trouble you all could have saved if somebody had just told me…anything?"

"The thought had occurred."

Gwen took a breath. "I want you to do it."

"Do what?"

"Host the Spider-Man Day Celebration. You stand up on stage, you take a photo with the masked man, you make a speech, and you give him the key to the city. It's your moment too MJ. You and the Spider seem to be stuck on each other."

"Are you sure?" MJ blinked, getting excited. "I mean, it's being organized by the Mayor…"

"And being paid for Cranston Industries. Leave my communication-impaired little brother to me, and enjoy it. I owe you this MJ. I owe you."

MJ smiled gratefully. Wow, she needed that. "Thanks Gwen, I really needed that today."

"Yeah. I saw the review."

"You did?"

"Yeah. You O.K.?"

"I will be. I'm actually about to go into the theater and face my esteemed colleagues."

"Keep your left up, remember to jab."

MJ gave a jaded chuckle. "Thank you, Gwen."

"Bye, MJ. I'm gonna call Stephen the Inscrutable."

MJ hung up her phone, and headed into the Theater, feeling hopeful. Stand up in front of all New York and pose with Spider-Man? It had been a secret dream to go public for a day since she they had their first upside down kiss.

She came into the theater via the auditorium door, and knew that the high-point of her day was behind her.

The music was playing, MJ's opening number, the back-up dancers were organized for their entrance, the auditorium had the Director and Producers alone as an audience, and there on stage, wearing her dress, and singing her song, was her understudy, Andrea.

When Andrea looked out across the stage into the audience, she hit a sour note, and the music suddenly stopped.

If the scene hadn't been suspicious before, it sure was now, especially as the backup dancers weren't even looking at her; and MJ knew from experience that it took a lot to make a woman wearing a costume like that for a living break the stare first.

MJ could feel her face starting to shake. She was near tears. _Dammit, MJ, you keep secrets for a living. Where's that Poker face that keeps the love of your life alive? Not two seconds ago you spun a convincing fairy-tale off the top of your head, keep it together!_

"What is this? Why is the music stopping?" the Director said with no particular interest from the eighth row.

Nobody answered him, everyone looking at MJ in mute horror.

Finally the two men in charge looked over their shoulders and saw their deposed star standing in sock behind them. "What is she doing here? I thought Gary was supposed to call her agent?"

MJ decided to pretend she hadn't heard that.

The two men traded a look that suggested they were preparing for some distasteful bloodletting, and they came to face her.

"Hi, honey," The director began sickeningly sweet. "Look, we tried to reach you…"

"_One _critic?" MJ implored, feeling her voice crack.

"No, all the papers, Honey," he fired back, and MJ felt yet another blow come crashing down.

"Well, all but the _Classic_. They had some problem with their critic being out of town; we're talking to them," amended the Producer. "Look, let's sit down and talk about this…"

And then, suddenly they were talking over each other, something MJ had learned to recognize as A Bad Sign.

"There's no reason this should affect your future…"

"Personal reasons; that's a good all-purpose…"

"Right, if you like we could just say you became ill…."

That seemed appropriate. MJ was about to throw up just listening to them come up with excuses for her just to get her out the door. She decided to save them the trouble and raced out of the theatre.

* * *

"And I just... _stood _there, gaping at them like an idiot," MJ complained, stretched out on Stephen's fainting couch like it was a therapy session. "What really hurts is that about an hour later, I finally came up with a really good comeback!"

Stephen chuckled, handed her a drink, and settled himself on the edge of the couch next to her. "Iced Mocha Latte, Full fat, chocolate shavings, with caramel shots included. Pierre calls it the self pity special."

MJ chuckled miserably, sat upright so that Stephen could slide back in the chair next to him; and took a sip of her iced coffee. "You know what I really hate?"

"What's that?"

"They're right," MJ admitted, tearing up. "It's just…God, I'm such an idiot. The reviews sounded so much like…"

"Like your dad?"

MJ looked, askance at him. "How'd you know?"

"I looked into all of you guys when you came into my life."

MJ paled. "You did?"

"MJ, your dad was a jerk who couldn't understand what a sleaze he was being to his daughter and you should have reported him," Stephen said bluntly.

"Tell me that The Shadow isn't going to do anything there," MJ said with some concern.

"Far be it from me to ever hold a grudge against those who have wronged my friends."

"Oh yes, very far be it," MJ mocked sarcastically.

"How did you become so good a person?"

"Had some pretty good knights in shining armor. Peter made me feel so good about myself, y'know. It was great. Then you came along."

"Me?" Stephen seemed surprised. "You could barely stand me."

"Well that was then. You, the network, the others…it's given me a…I don't know, a purpose, I guess. Something huge and noble." She laid her head on his shoulder. "Not bad looking either."

Stephen smirked and squeezed her hand softly. "MJ, you have any idea how amazing you are? Jails are full of childhood stories like yours. You've built something amazing with your life." Beat. "And hey, you ever want your dad's legs broken, you know my number." MJ chuckled as Stephen turned to look her in the eye. "MJ, can I tell you something you won't like to hear?"

"Why not? It seems to be my theme for today," MJ commiserated.

"That review is right," Stephen said. "MJ, Lord knows it's scarier to get up on stage and sing in front of five hundred strangers than it is to fight supervillains, but it's a fact of life that some things you can't do with courage alone. Doesn't mean anything other than what it is."

MJ sighed. "I hate this. Why couldn't _Peter _say any of that?"

"Because he loves you too much to see anything that could affect your life in a negative way. Except himself."

MJ snorted into her whipped cream. "True enough," She put down her cup. "So, what now?"

"Now you get a new job, maybe something involving singing, maybe not, and I pick up the phone, call City Hall and organize a parade for your boyfriend."

MJ gave a laugh. "I came out of the theater, and people suddenly started applauding all around me. I was just starting to feel flattered by it when I look up and see they're all waving at Spider-Man swinging past while they're pulling my nameplate out of the sign and _replacing my name with my understudy_," She threw her arms in the air. "I swear, you can't script a moment like that. There are women who worry about their significant other overshadowing their careers. Not my career. Mine will get _eaten_. In quick, small bites, if today's any indication."

Stephen loosed his Shadow laugh. "How? Nobody knows who he is. _People_ Magazine will wonder who the Hell Peter Parker is and how he rates Mary Jane Watson, world famous actress, Miss Universe winner and Nobel Laureate."

"Nobel Laureate?"

"Well, why not? If you're going to have delusions, you might as well go for the really satisfying ones."

MJ burst out laughing.

Stephen did not.

MJ let the laugh fade as she saw his look. "You're gonna hurt me now, aren't you?"

"I understand you had a conversation with Gwen this morning."

"Yeah."

"Regarding her position as host of Friday's Spider-Man Day Celebration."

"Yeah," MJ responded, starting to be unsettled.

"Well, here's the thing. Gwen's the host again."

"_What?_" She couldn't believe it. Could this day suck any more? "Why?"

"Because Harry gets out of the hospital tonight and he's going to be there Friday, and he's going to be wondering where Peter is while Spidey's on stage."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'And?' Your connection to Spider-Man in public is tied directly to The Green Goblin's first attack. I don't want Harry to follow the same thread Gwen did."

MJ paused as that statement unlocked questions she didn't care about in the hellish days following her kidnapping by Octavius. "Is _that_ why nobody made any interview requests about Octavius?" MJ asked suddenly. "Because you stopped it, like you did with Goblin?"

"I killed the stories about you at the Goblin attacks. I killed the story about you being Octavius' prisoner the night the reactor exploded. But there are enough facts still there. Right now, I don't want Osborn even _thinking_!"

MJ sighed hard and rubbed her eyes. "So I go to the party, make nice with Harry, and watch Spidey take his bows."

"That's right."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you mad?"

"Mad, as in 'insane', or mad, as in 'I'm going to find your hidden arsenal and shoot you dead here and now'?"

"Either one."

"No, sir."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "See, you say that, but in such a way so as to make me wonder if you really mean it."

"That's the beauty of our relationship. We're actually with other people, so we don't have to like each other," She gave him a smile. "Come by around seven tonight, and I'll prove it to you."

He looked surprised. "_Seven_?"

"You're right," MJ said, suddenly giving her mental Day Planner a looksee. "UTUP is at your place tonight. But I need to move it to seven-thirty. I'm having dinner with Peter and then he's going over to give Harry a ride home from the hospital--they're going to watch a basketball game or something."

"I'll have Moe standing by in case Peter wants a ride to St. V's. Or was Peter planning to web-swing the amnesiac Goblin home?"

"He'll probably take the cab," MJ noted. "Beats the subway, I suppose. See you tonight."

"See you then," Stephen said.

MJ headed out of his office.

"Wear those heels again!" he shouted after her.

"No promises!" She shouted back over her shoulder.

Stephen shook his head, then came out to the receptionist's desk. "Chloe, clear my calendar after 7:30 tonight."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I am _not_ your social secretary."

"You are the keeper of my life inside these walls. And if I don't leave, I can't have a social schedule."

Chloe smiled. "Nice to see you're finally recognizing my importance." She tapped a few keys on the keyboard. "You're free tonight."

Stephen gave a broad smile, and fairly danced out the door.

* * *

Harry had finally been released from the hospital, and Peter hade offered to pay for a cab ride. Harry had protested that he could probably get Bernard, Osborn family majordomo, to collect him, but Peter had insisted.

Harry had managed to gather some intelligence as to why Peter might want to go "home" with Harry by surfing the Med-ICU satellite TV feed. There was a Knicks/Celtics basketball game at The Garden on cable that night, and Harry quietly suggested that perhaps the reason Peter insisted on delivering Harry home was that he probably couldn't afford cable on a freelance photographer's income.

Peter had readily agreed to this. In fact, Cranston Condo 2601 _didn't_ have cable, just like Cranston Condo 2602 didn't. No need when your landlord had _the_ sweetest satellite TV deal in the likes of forever because he owned minority controlling shares in every satellite TV signal carrier in the tri-state region--or the tri-continental region. Maybe the tri-planetary region, because if anybody could figure out how to pick up alien satellite signals, it was somebody Victor or Alexander Cranston paid _extraordinarily_ well to do so. But then, last Harry knew, Peter was living in one bedroom--and Harry, the other--of an OsCorp tax shelter with _the_ most demented landlord in demented landlord history. The man made _Stephen_ look sane, and that was scary.

So, Harry was hinting that wherever Peter lived now, it probably wasn't any place where he could afford to have cable. Peter took this hinting on Harry's an encouraging sign that the amnesia was going to stick, and took the "excuse" as a valid reason to keep an eye on him for the evening.

As Harry got out of the standard hospital wheelchair discharge, Peter gave a whistle to attract his favorite Sunshine Radio Cab.

* * *

Bernard had met him at the door. "Welcome home, Harry. Thank God you're all right."

Harry looked more than a little overwhelmed at the attention. "Thanks Bernard." He gave the older man a hug, who returned it.

Peter reached into his bag, and pulled out a broken-in basketball. "Brought you a little homecoming present."

"Our old ball!" Harry beamed, pleased he had recognized something.

Peter grinned. Peter and Harry didn't have much in common, coming from about as different backgrounds as you could get while being from the same planet. Harry suggested basketball, and after playing one game in gym class, both kids were convinced they were experts. Harry went out to buy a ball, and they found a neighborhood court and started facing off like Bird vs. Magic. Their game had lasted all of four minutes before losing the brand-new professional-league ball over the fence. It had bounced clear across the street, never to be seen again.

Peter had felt so guilty he had cracked open his sparse piggy bank to buy the millionaire a new ball. The next day at school, Harry had been presented with a dime-store basketball with 'Osborn' written on it.

Harry had been so pleased, he turned it over and written 'Parker' on the opposite side, and the two of them had been passing it back and forth ever since, until the end of school.

Peter dug it out of storage when it was time to bring Harry home, and now the younger Osborn bounced it around a little bit on the marble floor of his father's mansion. "Hey, we were pretty good in the backyard, weren't we?"

"We were terrible!" Peter retorted. "_And_ we tried out for the Varsity Team! What were we thinking?"

"The cheerleaders," Harry said, as though it were obvious.

And it was. MJ was a cheerleader at the time, dating the quarterback. "Right," Peter agreed. "MJ still has the uniform."

"Really?" Harry said, intrigued. The last he remembered, he had just broken up with MJ. He had to remind himself yet again that years had passed. "Hey, do I have any girlfriends?"

Peter shrugged, and Harry turned back up the staircase. "Hey Bernard?" he called. "Do I have any girlfriends?"

The butler took the question seriously. "Not that I know of, sir."

Peter swatted him and stole the ball back, bouncing it down the staircase. They made it to the more ornate hallway, and dribbled the ball back and forth a bit.

Harry looked around, thinking. He grew up in this mansion. But he had lived, as far as he knew, in a loft space in Manhattan, nervous as Hell when his father the landlord made one of his 'Stormin' Norman' checks every month.

But even as he looked, Harry could tell. Changes had been made. Some expensive things had been removed. Sold for money, returned to museums…Harry didn't know, but he knew in his gut he wasn't the money-maker his father had been.

Harry wasn't worried. Even when he had lost everything, he would still have more personal wealth assured to him than most people saw in a lifetime. That is simply the way it was when one of the power elite. "Pretty sweet pad, huh?"

Peter shrugged. "Not bad," he said, glad Harry didn't remember the kind of millionaires he hung around with now.

"Well, maybe I can turn this no-girlfriend thing around."

Peter chuckled.

Harry looked around a little. Peter tossed him the ball again, and Harry had to reach for it. The stretch took Harry an extra two steps forward, into a room behind the staircase…

Peter froze.

He could feel it in a second. This was _the_ room. This was _the_ place. What the Sanctum was to The Shadow, or the skyscrapers were to Spider-Man, this room was to The Goblin.

The non-room behind the staircase was the Goblin's Lair.

And His Son's.

The exit was merely the underside of an ornate oak staircase.

And the walls, muted and dark, centered on the desk. On the desk were maps, pictures, a newspaper, freshly delivered that morning. At the end of the table was the wet bar, and next to the ink-blotter, given center stage, was a mounted upright dagger, the same blade Harry had intended to kill Spider-Man with once.

One wall was covered, with stacks of tribal masks, all of them predatory and war-like; ringed by expensive statuettes and vases. Hundreds of hungry hunter's eyes glared down at the two young men from their place of height and wealth.

The opposite wall was dedicated to a full length mirror, and next to it a huge oil-painting of The Man himself, Norman Osborn.

The windows opened onto the balcony, which overlooked the whole city, but the glass doors had been set with thick bars. The lights overhead had been removed, except for the desk lamps, and the massive six foot fireplace.

And before the windows, was a seven-foot long green brocade chaise lounge.

_No, not "a" lounge,_ Peter reminded himself. _The Lounge._

It was The Lounge. The lounge that Spider-Man had laid to rest Norman Osborn, stripped naked of the Goblin costume, and impaled on Glider-blades, for his son to find. It was the same lounge, moved from the master bedroom to the study, where Harry had obsessed over his hunt for Spider-Man. It was the same lounge on which Octavius, working under orders from Harry Osborn, had once laid his beaten body, ready for Harry to deliver the coup-de-grace.

And Harry had surrounded himself by it, while plotting his revenge. The Masks, the Mirrors, the Lounge, the City, and Norman Osborn, surrounding him every minute he worked, glaring at him from all directions.

Peter froze, staring at the lounge, gingerly glancing over to Harry. If anything was going to bring Goblin back, it would be the Goblin's Lair.

But Harry seemed not to even be aware of the thousand empty eyes and mirrors that hunted him. Only the portrait of his father. "Y'know, he always appreciated how you helped me through high school."

Inwardly, Peter knew Harry was right. Norman Osborn was embarrassed by the son he pushed away, because Harry kept flunking out of the expensive schools. Compared with that, the sudden entrance of Peter Parker, who came from nothing and helped the rich kid with his homework for nothing, Harry's efforts were uniformly unimpressive to the hard-nosed billionaire.

And then after graduation, when Harry was reduced to living in one of his father's tax shelters, while both Norman and Peter had become, literally superhuman, Harry was quickly pushed to the sidelines again.

"I wish I could remember more about him," Harry whispered.

"Well, he loved you," Peter said uncomfortably. "That's the important thing."

The Goblin lair had no television--or at least one Peter could see--so Peter pointed to his watch. "Game starts soon."

Harry nodded, and backed toward the entrance, still entranced with his father's face.

Something was coming into Harry's eyes as they walked, so Peter forced a little misdirection. "Think fast!" he said as he threw the basketball.

The ball sailed past Harry and hit one of the many vases that lined the wall of masks.

Harry finally noticed, and caught the basketball in one hand, turning in the same movement to catch the vase safely with the other, almost without looking.

Harry, immensely proud of himself, spun back to Peter, with his eyes wide and his lips drawn back over his teeth in an untamed grin.

"See that?" Harry glowed. "Still got the moves."

* * *

"By itself," Stephen considered. "It doesn't sound too bad. His reflexes, speed and strength are all still there, it was an instinctive response. Nobody else could have made the catch, but they still would have tried for it."

"I disagree," Peter said quietly into his phone, listening to his spider-sense for any sign of Harry coming back.

Stephen shook his head. "Peter, it's not an issue. That show of strength isn't that impressive, and the Goblin formula doesn't make his strength as massive as either of them thought it did. His father lived for years without any memory before he realized he was superhuman. Harry won't lift anything he thinks is too big for him, because nobody does. He'll think he can't do it, so he won't try and won't notice that it's easy."

"Stephen…I tossed a basketball to him, missed, and knocked a vase off the table. He moved fast. Faster than I can. He grabbed the vase in one hand and the ball in the other, almost without looking. Stephen, the look in his eyes when he did…it was pure Goblin."

Stephen shook his head. "No Peter, it was pure power."

"What?"

Stephen looked at the papers on the coffee table in front of him. "Peter, I have, in front of me, two pieces of paper. If I sign the paper to my right, I will open a new wing at a children's hospital, at short-term personal cost to me but giving me a nice, healthy tax break at the end of the year. If I sign the paper to my left, I can call in a long-forgotten part-ownership in an employment agency once co-owned by Alexander Cranston and Howard Stark, which is now owned--supposedly with clear title--by Tony Stark, an agency currently in charge of researching what went wrong with _FarReach_ so that the next thousand flights don't have the same problem, thus placing myself in for either a cut of the current deal or a large check from the man himself, either way making a large amount of cash for myself." He grinned coldly. "It's called Power, Peter. It's what an athlete feels when he crosses the finish line, it's what Jameson feels when he makes up a headline, it's what we feel when we pull on a mask."

Peter was silent, waiting for the point.

Stephen picked up a pen, and signed both pages. He'd call Stark personally, bypassing Pepper Potts and Chloe Bryant, and share a bragging session at his fellow billionaire's expense for the latter signature. "You and me? We can affect more in one day than any ten men can in a year. It's called Power. You've got it, so stop acting ashamed of it."

"I'm not ashamed of it."

"The Hell you aren't. You've been carrying that mask around like a lead weight since the day your Uncle Ben died. Look at yourself. You're Spider-Man, king of the world, you dance across rooftops, you balance on a tower spire, you fly through the air and you can bench-press a truck. You're elite. You are powerful, so stop acting like the universe has a grudge against you. You aren't the victim. You're the mighty. Start acting like it."

"I _am _acting like it."

"No, you're acting like Spider-Man's like it. You're Peter Parker, the guy who never looked his landlord in the eye, the guy who begged Jameson's secretary for an advance, the guy who wont fix his bathroom door because he's too awkward about living in a Penthouse on my dime, the guy who takes orders from someone that he's frankly smarter than and strong enough to knock down." A long silence passed. "It's called Power, and it's yours. Stop being scared of it."

Another long silence as Peter considered what Stephen was saying. "What are you doing?" Peter whispered. "Why are you being like this now?"

Stephen didn't answer right away. "Being like what?"

"You never cared about image, or fame, except for how it kept you informed at the paper, or how it kept your myth going in the underworld. You don't work at the paper any more. You're demanding dossiers on every new telepath the Tulku meets, you're actively making me the White Knight, complete with parade and key to the city, you're coaching me on attitude and accepting my place and…Stephen, why are you doing this?"

Stephen sent a look over at his guest room. "I'm not doing anything. You deserve it. And--"

"And MJ?" Peter pressed. "I know you've moved her a good bit closer to Victor's former post--not that I'm necessarily unhappy with _that_--and I also know you're meeting with her while I'm not there…"

Stephen reacted as MJ came into the room, towel draped around her neck, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and her shoes in the other. "What did she tell you?" he asked Peter.

MJ reacted, realizing who he was speaking to.

"She didn't tell me anything," Peter said, not as friendly as he was a moment ago. "Not even a hint, which makes me wonder what in God's name you're doing with her after dark. Sarah's been meeting more agents in the last week than in the last six months, Marsh is taking over information gathering and investigation, which is something special given he's such a new agent…"

"Peter…"

"Stephen, why are you acting like I'm the last man standing guard?" Peter said pointedly. "What are you trying to set me up for?"

Stephen looked hard at his pen for a long moment, then made up his mind. "Peter, you should go home. Make some excuse why you can't stay behind to finish watching the game. There's a big party for you tomorrow, and it starts pretty darned early in the morning, and we're both expected to attend."

Peter didn't have a chance to answer before Stephen hung up. _Wow. Just what are you doing with your nights, partner?_

* * *

Stephen looked at MJ. "You should go home, too. Peter's starting to ask questions. It might not be smart if you weren't there when he got home."

MJ gave a sigh, then nodded and quickly started pulling on her shoes.

* * *

**End of Part Five

* * *

**

_AN: Read, Enjoy, and review._**  
**


	6. Can Things Get Any Worse?

The Darkness Within

A Shadow/Spider-Man Crossover by Stephensmat and Scarlet

Part Six

_(**The Story So Far:** After what started out as a great gathering of friends for Mary Jane Watson's debut as a lead in a Broadway musical, Manhattan Memories, the topsy-turvy lives of Stephen Cranston and Peter Parker begin slowly but surely spinning out of control. Peter's former best friend turned blood enemy Harry Osborn has transformed himself into another superpowered human and took on his father's role as the New Goblin, but when Peter nearly kills Harry in the skies over Manhattan, it's up to Stephen's mind-wiping psyche and the hands of an empathic trauma surgeon and Shadow agent, Dr. Michael Benning, to bring Harry back to life but keep the goblin inside subdued. Stephen's mind-wipe succeeds…but just barely; Harry has a vague feeling that __Norman__ is dead--which Peter confirms--but remembers nothing after that. Meanwhile, Flint Marko, a recently uncovered Person of Interest in the murder of Ben Parker, escaped from prison just hours before he was due to be transferred to Manhattan for questioning…but finds himself an unwitting part of a demolecularizing experiment as he falls into a sandy pit during his escape, and his molecules are disintegrated only to be re-integrated into the sand at the bottom of the pit. Marko manages to re-construct himself as a man of living sand, and escapes the pit. As Stephen works closely every night with Mary Jane Watson on missions that are best kept from both Peter Parker and Sarah Branson, Peter himself plans to propose to MJ using the ring Uncle Ben gave Aunt May. But once more, real life interferes: Peter finds himself forced into the role of Spider-Man to save the public from a series of disasters…including Spider-Man saving Gwen Stacy from an overhead crane going berserk. While Gwen's would-be suitor Eddie Brock photographs the entire rescue, Spider-Man rushes off to save the new Stark Industries prototype Space Shuttle, flown by Commander John Jameson, as Jameson crashes it into the Triborough Bridge while trying to reach LaGuardia Airport. Jameson lost control of the shuttle due to a sticky tar-like life form that escaped from its imprisonment in an asteroid stored in the shuttle's cargo hold…and the life form, hungry for energy, latches onto Spider-Man as a "tar stain" on his suit and escapes from the shuttle with a new being whose life energy will be able to satisfy its needs. Meanwhile, Daily Bugle editor-in-chief J. Jonah Jameson is back on the anti-Spider-Man warpath since he believes the Web-Slinger's antics cost his son--"the real hero"--the true face of courage in this tragedy, and has hired sleazy photohound Edward Brock Jr. to provide the pictures the Bugle will need in its new war. Sarah worries that she feels less able to focus and control her clairvoyance than ever, and needs Stephen's guidance to help her grow and become the part of this mission that she knows she can be, not realizing that Stephen has his own worries…worries about his own increasing powers, about the anger and dragon within himself, before he finally decides that the longterm future of the safety of New York lies in the hands of his partner. To that end, Cranston reveals himself publicly as the mastermind behind the city's new "New York Loves Spider-Man" advertising campaign, which will culminate in a Key to the City ceremony on Friday with Gwen Stacy presenting Spider-Man the key. Gwen offers the spot to MJ, but Stephen quashes it because he needs MJ to keep track of Harry Osborn, whom Peter worries may not be as memory challenged as they all once believed. But MJ's spirits are already laid low by being let go from Manhattan Memories after truly dreadful reviews. Now, as New York prepares to celebrate how much they love Spider-Man, Flint Marko prepares to make his own assault on the city to gather the money he needs to save the life of his dying daughter, Penny…)_

* * *

The crowd had begun gathering in Times Square for the Spidey Day celebration since just after midnight. By 0930, it almost seemed like the entire city had converged onto the same bit of concrete. They were getting a good show so far. No expense had been spared, which Peter Parker admitted was pretty darned impressive even by the usual Cranston Industries standards for corporate events.

The crowd was psyched up, and Peter was more than enjoying himself. There was a full-on marching band that had been playing an amped up version of the silly busker's Spider-Man jingle, but for once, Peter didn't wince. In fact, he started keeping time, marching dramatically along with them, seeming quite ridiculous with the huge camera around his neck and the stupid grin that just wouldn't ease off.

Hundreds of people had brought homemade signs, waving them back and forth, screaming everything from "Webs Rule!" to "Marry Me Spidey!"

Times Square had actually been closed down for the day, and the myriad of billboards that surrounded the site all had footage of various Spider-Man sightings, including a quick clip of the crane rescue.

The Space Shuttle rescue kept coming up over and over on the screen too, and when Peter glanced over at the stage, he saw a few members of the shuttle crew taking their seats. Stephen was on stage also, beside the mayor, and Gwen was next to him.

Stephen met his eyes and gestured him over. "MJ here yet?"

Peter shook his head. "She told Harry that I had to work, which is true enough, so she's meeting him here. Says she wanted to get him out of the house for a while."

"Well if the Goblin lair didn't bring back his Spider-Vendetta, odds are Spider-Man himself won't."

"Here's hoping," Peter said, suddenly distracted.

Stephen followed Peter's eyes and saw Gwen and Brock talking. Well, Brock was talking. Gwen was…being polite.

Peter looked at Stephen. "When he was smooth-talking his way into the Bugle, he said that he had a great girl that he intended to marry once he got a good job."

Stephen's eyes bulged. "He'd better not mean Gwen."

"I think he did."

"Osborn will be here soon. MJ is with him. The Mayor will be making introductions for Gwen a little earlier than anticipated."

"Then I better go get into make-up."

Stephen was studying angles around them. "Try to land on Gwen's left--it'll give the cameras a better shot."

"Including Brock?"

"Brock will be busy trying to fish that camera out of his nose."

Peter nodded. It was always nice when he and Stephen were on the same page.

* * *

"Eddie…we just had coffee," Gwen was trying to reason.

"No reason it couldn't be more than that afterward," Brock responded half-whining, half used-car-salesman, still 100-percent in tune with the universal reaction of Guy Who Just Doesn't Get It.

"Gwen," a firm masculine voice called out, and Brock suddenly realized somebody was about to muscle in on his turf.

Gwen turned, and found Stephen coming down toward them from the stage. "It's time."

Gwen nodded quickly, grateful for the diversion. She nodded a goodbye to Brock and slipped off, not noticing Stephen stepping smoothly between her and Brock's camera. "So, who are you here with, Mister…?"

"It's Brock, sir," Eddie introduced. "Edward Brock, Junior."

Stephen shook his hand. "Stephen Cranston."

"Ahh, the Pulitzer millionaire himself," Eddie said, quickly bringing the camera up.

Stephen gave his cuffs a quick straighten as he made a pretense of checking his watch. The gesture made the huge fire opal ring on his left hand even more prominent, which brought Brock's eyes upward toward his face. It was an old Cranston trick, one described by his grandfather in The Shadow's journals, and _very_ effective at tricking an adversary into making eye contact. "It's a little known fact, but Gwen's actually my oldest friend."

Eddie actually paused mid-click. "Really?"

"Really," Stephen continued smoothly. "Known her since I was six years old. She's my very good friend. Practically family. Very protective of her."

"Well, I can see why."

Stephen waited until he was sure he had Brock's undivided attention before springing the trap. "So, see, this is where I have to ask you something."

"Ask away."

Stephen held out a hand, Brock shook it again by insitnct and suddenly his hand was crushed in a steel death trap. Stephen put his other hand on Brock's elbow, immobilizing the whole arm. "What exactly are your intentions here?"

Brock blinked, the camera dropping back to the strap around his neck loosely. "My intentions?"

Stephen's face suddenly morphed into something shark-like. Stephen suddenly grew about three feet taller and far more menacing.

Brock stepped back, but did not pull his arm free. It was…chilling. Suddenly all Brock could see were those eyes.

"Because to hear her tell it, you had coffee; to hear J. Jonah Jameson tell it, you're engaged. My lawyers are very eager to keep my business now that I'm not on staff at a newspaper getting sued for defamation by bad people, so they're looking for anyone to pick a fight with. If anyone tried to mistreat my surrogate sister, you'd pay for their Christmas vacation."

"Well…" Brock suddenly stumbled. "I uh…"

"So here are the rules," Stephen commanded. "One. If you make her cry, I will make you cry. Two, No means No. In the case of Gwen, no means Death. This is not hyperbole. It will happen. It could be slow and painful, or a quick 'Lights Out'. Zero trace, or occasionally found body parts. Three. Do not lie. Do not lie to me. Do not lie to her. Four, I am the all-knowing omnipresent Angel of Death for your universe. As such, I have the prerogative to end anything that I find objectionable, and your cheap aftershave and your used-car salesman routine mean nothing. Five, I am backed by a most unholy cadre of lawyers, hitmen, private security, and surveillance firms, all of whom I pay _very_ well to be answerable to me, and only to me. One word from her to me, and I will have no hesitation whatsoever to turn them loose on you."

Brock heard every single word go pounding into his brain. They were carved into his frontal lobe with a burning knife. But all he could see were _those eyes_. Stephen Cranston was suddenly like a cartoon demon, with spinning sorcerer's pinwheels for eyeballs.

Stephen's voice deepened till Brock could feel the cells of his body vibrating apart under the billionaire's limitless malevolence. "Any time you think I'm too tough, any time you think these rules are unfair, any time you want to renegotiate this agreement: **_Give up_**_._ You heard that right. If these rules are not acceptable to you, then perhaps you should avail yourself of the opportunity to remove yourself from the equation and spare yourself considerable pain and effort for no result."

"I…" Brock stammered. "I…" _Oh please, God, I promise I'll be a good boy from now on just please make him point those eyes somewhere else!_

**"_In fact, it might be an idea if you just bowed out gracefully right now._" **

And then, suddenly, the Angel of Death's voice ceased, Stephen's eyes became human again, and the sun came out once more. "So, do we have an understanding?"

"Sure," squeaked Brock.

Stephen beamed. "O.K., then. I'm sorry this didn't work out for you, Eddie, but it's probably best to be adult about this. I'll break the news to Gwen. Don't worry about her, she's pretty level-headed." He smiled again. "I'm glad we had the chance to have this little conversation."

"Me, too," Eddie squeaked.

Stephen released Eddie's elbow.

Brock was just glad he actually had a fully functional arm after that. At least, he hoped he did. He couldn't tell right away, because his hands were shaking too badly to even hold his camera upright. How many fingers had he lost? Were they all there?

Stephen checked his watch. "Well, I'd better get up on stage." He said brightly. "Better get in position, Eddie--the show's about to begin."

By the time Stephen was back on stage, Eddie was no longer even daring to look Gwen's way.

Just as well, because he might have seen Sarah Branson, off to the side of the stage, almost bent double from laughing madly at him.

* * *

"Do I want to know what you just did?" Gwen asked.

"Of course not." Stephen cued the music, and the festival began.

She giggled. "I love you, little brother."

"I know. Now, let's sit back and enjoy the show."

Gwen waited until Mayor Timman began his speech to try and whisper to Stephen again. "Do you think he'll show?"

Stephen nodded. "I have it on authority he will."

Gwen's eyes got very big. "Really?" She squeaked.

"When you're ready to wrap up, look at me. If I nod, make an introduction for him; if I shake my head, make your goodbyes."

Gwen licked her lips. "This is gonna be wild."

"It is." Stephen gave that mysterious chuckle of his that made her giddy and nervous at the same time.

* * *

Marko was nervous. In his head, he knew he never needed to be nervous again, but he was. Not about getting hurt, or about losing the pay-off like he had been the other times leading up to a job, but he was nervous about losing control.

He had lost control once before, and he'd killed a man.

He never wanted to lose control like that again.

Getting together enough control to look human was tricky. To keep that up while moving was harder.

Then he saw the cops.

There wasn't anyone who had spent any amount of time inside that didn't immediately see the badge, the uniform, the nightstick, the gun, the cocky walk on an overweight frame.

Marko didn't flinch. Every convict knew the rules of being in the presence of police: If they aren't looking at you, then be invisible.

So he walked straight past them, not even glancing in their direction. They were walking away from the bank anyway.

The more the anticipation built as he headed toward the bank, the more he could feel his sand cells shaking. So much so in fact, that he actually had to brush some loose sand away before he was noticed.

But he was noticed anyway.

A policeman, walking the beat, had nudged his partner. "Isn't that the guy on the prison break alert?"

His partner send a longer look toward Marko and nodded.

Marko heard them talking. These guys were amateurs. They had drawn their guns. In public. In the street. If Marko hadn't heard them, the sudden gasps and exclamations from the two dozen or so people who saw the guns would have tipped him off.

He changed direction, leaving the bank and heading for a nearby construction site. There was a dump truck out front.

A _huge_ dump truck, filled with construction sand.

Getting in under the tarp was easy enough. He was still aware of what was going on through the sand. He pushed a little it of himself out from under the tarp, and as it fell to the ground, he could see the policemen coming around the corner of the truck, gesturing to each other.

Marko could feel the sand in the truck move too. He remembered that place, and how it had sand in the bottom of the pit. He remembered how it responded to him, and realized how well armed he was.

If he could control it. But he'd never been great at control.

Now was a Hell of a time to have to learn it.

The police had split up. One stayed outside the dump truck, calling for backup, the other had climbed up and removed the tarp, expecting to find Marko hiding under the sand.

Marko made the surface of the sand move a little, and the cop started creeping up slowly with a shovel.

Marko knew he couldn't come back from this. He wouldn't be the first crook with bizarre power to hit this town. This was the point of no return.

He thought of Penny.

The rest was simple.

The cop raised his shovel, ready to slam it down, edge first…

…when suddenly, the sand he was standing on blasted up hard and threw him into next week.

Marko raised himself from the truck and took the cargo of sand with him.

_Just like before, __Flint__,_ he told himself. _Build the sand castle._

He was too big to be considered human really, but he was humanoid. Like something out of a Godzilla movie, he raised himself up immensely. People ran and screamed.

Marko ignored them, looking back toward the bank. An armored van had apparently not seen the monster movie unfolding, and was driving away from the bank.

Marko considered. The truck would be easier to hit, if he could catch up with it.

And that was when gunfire rang out.

Marko roared. It hurt! He could feel the impact blasting into him. And then blasting through him, taking fist sized chunks of him away.

He summoned the sand back. It returned to its place, the holes in his sandy body filled, and the pain was instantly forgotten.

But the police kept firing.

Marko roared, and swung back with a sandstorm-intensity punch.

A huge wall of sand just picked up policemen, police cars, regular cars and passerby alike, throwing it all.

Marko noticed that the extra sand he had--liberated was probably the right word for it, he decided--liberated from the truck was light and airy, as cement construction sand generally was. He noticed how easily he had been able to make it go 'up' and went with it, taking off like a sandstorm, pursuing the truck.

_A fella could get used to this._

* * *

"People of the City of New York," Gwen began. "I'm here today, because I fell sixty-two stories, and someone caught me. Someone who never asked for anything in return. Someone who doesn't even want us to know who he is!"

A cheer went up.

MJ smiled, but couldn't help feel a twinge. Nobody knew who either of them were, but MJ was ignored and Peter got a parade.

She squashed that thought firmly. Peter had taken more than a few lumps for his chosen career, she could take hers. She was feeling a little sorry for herself right now, and it wasn't worth holding a grudge against Gwen, who had apparently been converted to the cult.

"Hey, MJ."

MJ turned and saw Harry, without the bandage over his eyebrow, munching on a large cotton candy.

"Harry!" MJ smirked, then gave herself a quick mental kick. She was supposed to be watching him during the celebration, and Stephen would kill her if he knew she was shirking her responsibility this badly. She gave him a quick kiss hello, as old friends do.

Harry had noticed she was alone. "Where's Pete?"

"Oh, he's around," MJ said. "Getting photos for the paper."

"Right," Harry realized. Still filming the bug. Some things never changed.

"Look at you, you look so good," MJ beamed, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he had recovered at a superhuman speed. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good, actually. It's weird not knowing who you are. Bump on the head, I'm as free as a bird."

MJ couldn't help the ironic laugh as he took a bite of the cotton candy. "Will you bop me on the head then?"

Harry gave her a light tap on the forehead. "Bop!"

MJ rolled her head back with a death-scene tongue lolling out.

Harry laughed at the dramatics. "Oh, hey, Pete said you're in a play," he suddenly said, happy as a clam for her.

MJ nodded at that, trying not to think how that story ended. "You came, you sent me flowers."

"I did?" Harry said, as though she was talking about someone else. "I'll have to come again."

MJ's smile faltered. "You can't. I was let go."

Harry looked so sad for her. "What happened?"

"I wasn't very good," MJ confessed. There. She had said it and not collapsed. She had said it honestly and out loud and she had survived.

Harry looked embarrassed. "Y'know, I wrote you a play once in high school."

The two of them smiled at each other, thinking about the old days. "You did?" MJ laughed. "_You_ wrote _me_ a play. Harry, that is the sweetest thing."

But the confession about the play was something new. She had been friends with all of them. Harry, Peter, Gwen…she must have talked their ears off about being up on stage one day…

MJ couldn't help but think it: Harry _had_ changed. He was…young again. He was happy again. This was the Harry Osborn she had dated once, cared about once…even loved…

MJ killed that thought too. She knew full well that Harry had asked her out because Peter had a crush on her, and as long as his father was so involved with Peter, Harry would make do with her…

But then she knew that she was the only serious girlfriend he had. His father had ended that relationship, first by disapproving of her, and then by dying soon after. Harry had never dated again, too obsessed with hunting Spider-Man.

The thought of Spider-Man and the way he had changed all of their lives made MJ feel guilty for a reason she couldn't really place, but it served to draw her attention back to the stage. The two of them were back from the crowd. It didn't matter. With the huge view screens, they could see Gwen clearly.

Harry nudged MJ. "Look who's suddenly famous."

MJ grinned. "Yeah."

Harry gestured at the screen. "You know that guy behind her? That's Stephen Cranston."

MJ considered. How much of what he didn't remember did she want to tell him? "I've…met him."

Harry seemed surprised. "You have?"

"Yeah. Nice guy." There. She'd said _that_, too, and hadn't exploded. "He and Gwen have apparently been friends since before high school."

Harry blinked. "Really? Huh. And here I thought I was the only billionaire you guys knew."

"You were. Just you and your dad. I only met him a few years ago."

Harry sobered a little. "Mary Jane, my father had no right to say what he did about you."

MJ felt like she'd been punched in the gut. "What?" She croaked.

Harry looked young and wise at the same time. "My father saw you, and he thought you were after my money. He thought you were shallow, and he thought you were just like my mother. Mom ran out on us just after I was born, and she took half a billion dollars with her."

MJ felt her jaw drop. "Really? You never…I mean, even when we were dating, you never mentioned her."

"I didn't like to talk about it," Harry nodded. "She filed for divorce, just after my birth, so that she could claim a much higher percentage of the Osborn money. She played my father, and I was born so that she could get her hooks further into his accounts. And my father fell for it. He treated _you_ the way _she_ treated us, and I was…I said _nothing_. Mary Jane, I am so sorry. If Dad were alive, he would apologize too."

MJ didn't know what to say. She loved Harry for what he'd just said, and hated him in the same breath. He had never said anything like this to her before. And that was the problem. He _should_ have. Maybe if Harry hadn't been this bitter about things, things wouldn't have turned out like they did.

But then, Norman Osborn was an insane maniac, and Harry didn't know that. Nor did Stephen want him knowing that right now, and she had an assignment to carry out. She needed to get her head back in the game right this instant.

Harry seemed a little shy about what he had just tossed out and attributed her current expression to her own unease about it. He looked away.

MJ reached over and gave him a very quick hug.

He returned the hug, feeling lighter. "We had some pretty good times, didn't we?"

"We did," MJ admitted to herself. And it was true. Right up till the day Harry had let his father take her apart, she was having a great time with him.

* * *

"So I ask you," Gwen's voice came back to them. "When you're dropping without a parachute, when your store's being robbed, or your house is on fire; who is that breaks your fall, puts out the flames, or saves your children?"

"Spider-Man!" yelled back the crowd happily.

* * *

On a balcony nearby, Peter took in the view before pulling his mask out of his pocket. "They _love_ me," he said to himself, just giddy with delight.

Then, he pulled his mask over his face and got set to make an entrance, stage left.

* * *

Gwen sent the briefest of glances over her shoulder toward Stephen.

Stephen had already made eye contact with Sarah, his "clear vision" lookout, who had given him a subtle thumbs-up. He gave a nod to Gwen.

Gwen felt something surge through her. _Go for it._ "Then let's hear it, for the one, the only, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!" Gwen wound the crowd up, pointing toward the rooftops behind the crowd.

There was a collective gasp of disbelief, and the crowd exploded into a roar that hadn't been heard in Times Square since New Years Eve Millennium. The crowd had come to celebrate, but none of them really expected that the hero himself would actually appear.

The band wound itself up again, playing his song, the press and their cameras went in every direction looking for him…

And suddenly there he was, appearing out of the sky on the end of a web.

He swept straight down the centre of the crowd, happily high-fiving about twelve people on one swing.

The swing came back up, and Spider-Man released when he got to the framework holding up the spotlights above the stage, landing on one hand, with the greatest of ease, performing an acrobatic show that would make Olympic gymnasts shrink in their shoes.

The crowd roared, so he did a few more poses.

At the back of the stage, the city fathers applauded wildly, Stephen included. In the front row, the youngest fans from the Spider-Man Club, all in their homemade costumes, screamed approval.

Spider-Man waved to the crowd before lowing himself on a webline till he was eye-to-upside down eye with Gwen.

Grinning beneath his mask, Peter was on top of the world. He was the Hero! He could almost hear Goblin's voice. _"In spite of all you have done, eventually they will turn on you."_

"SPI-DER-MAN! SPI-DER-MAN! SPI-DER-MAN! SPI-DER-MAN!" roared the crowd, with Stephen Cranston practically leading the cheers and Sarah Branson training a camera on him right at the front. And Gwen Stacy, who less than two months before had signed a hit on him, was offering him the key to the city.

_Well, take THAT, Norman Osborn!_ Spider-Man thought as he gave a euphoric "Whoo!" to the crowd.

"SPI-DER-MAN! SPI-DER-MAN! SPI-DER-MAN!"

Gwen grinned and leaned forward. "You forgive me?" she whispered into his ear.

"Kiss him!" someone yelled in the crowd, and suddenly they all took up the chant.

Stephen gave a wry smile at the crowd's antics, and noticed Sarah giving the same expression at the sudden cry for romance.

"No, Spider-Man, no! Don't do it!" screamed the under-tens of the Spidey Fan Club.

Gwen giggled.

"Go ahead," Spider-Man offered.

Gwen's eyes went dark and serious, suddenly not so high on the crowd's approval. "Really?" She said, daring to think he meant it.

"Sure, give 'em a good show," Spider-Man seemed to shrug while still upside down.

* * *

MJ stopped smiling suddenly, as Gwen rolled Spider-Man's mask up to nose-level.

* * *

In the front of the crowd, which had risen to a deafening volume, Sarah alone suddenly went quiet.

Just as well, for she couldn't very well speak with her jaw resting on the ground at that moment.

* * *

"Uh-oh," Stephen muttered on stage, wondering if maybe he shouldn't try to change his partner's mind.

But by then it was too late, as Gwen gave the masked man an electric upside-down kiss.

* * *

"Whoa," Harry said appreciatively. "Hope Peter got a shot of that."

_Oh, I'll bet he did,_ MJ finally thought once her brain managed to kick back into gear from the sheer shock of the moment.

* * *

Gwen was reluctant to let him go, but she did, and rolled his mask back on properly. She was stunned by the level of trust just placed in her. She could so easily have unmasked him right there in front of the world.

And he could so easily have let her fall.

Posing side-by-side for more cameras, Gwen couldn't stop smiling.

Until the sky suddenly went dark.

Gwen and Spider-Man broke apart a little, as something unreal went past.

A cloud…no, a _column_ of sand flew through the air, right past Times Square, before turning sideways and sweeping down the street. Gwen drew unconsciously closer to the masked man, knowing he would protect her.

And then she noticed Stephen was stepping closer to her, because Spider-Man was already taking up the chase.

With all the TV and press in front of him, even Stephen couldn't pull off his usual disappearance act. Too many minds to cloud, and no way his jammer could intercept that many TV signals.

But that didn't mean he couldn't watch, and he gave Sarah the mental command to be his eyes.

Sarah nodded and moved away from the crowd, trying to minimize the psychic distractions. At times like this, she felt absolutely worthless, not even able to lend a hand to their friend, who was about to go off to war. All she could do was just watch.

* * *

The driver of the armored truck first noticed something was wrong when his side mirrors went a little blurry. For a second, it felt like a dust storm had passed. He checked the mirror again, and noticed the shadow of the truck on the road.

It was strange, but it looked like a man was suddenly fading into view, simply growing out of a dust-storm.

And the shadow of the man had huge shoulders; bigger arms and freakishly huge fists.

In New York City, that couldn't possibly be a good thing.

"Hey, we got something on the roof!" He shouted to his partner.

The second guard, required on all cash runs, took position between the moneybags in the back of the truck and pumped his shotgun.

Suddenly, the truck was rocked on its axles as the roof itself caved in, and a huge sandy fist flattened him against the floor.

The second guard forced himself to a kneeling position, blind from the sand in his eyes, and hoping to Hell that the shotgun didn't have any sand in the chamber, before aiming a shot straight up into the seething sandy face.

The gun didn't even fire, before the huge sandy mass deformed and poured into the truck, filling it completely.

The glass divider between the hold and the cab shattered under the weight, and the driver was swallowed by the dry quicksand too.

The rising sand quickly pressed down the accelerator, and the truck sped up.

Marko told the sand to keep the steering wheel from moving, and gave himself plenty of time to order the extra sand away from the unconscious men, so that he could gather up the money bags.

Faced with the prospect of moving cargo for the first time, Marko paused. Something small and light like Penny's locket was one thing, bags full of several million dollars was another.

Hopefully, he could make the cash turn to sand too; or at least force it up with enough force to take it with him. Marko had read once that a big rain had once dropped fish, collected from the ocean with the rainwater; the same idea might work here.

Come to that, he'd just carry it away. It wasn't like anybody could stop him.

As if to answer that thought, a red and blue figure dropped through the roof of the still moving truck. "Jig's up, pal," Spider-Man told him.

Marko set the bags down and turned to face Spider-Man, raising himself tall. He had a good six inches on the bug, even when he wasn't making himself a huge sandy shape. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Guess you haven't heard," Spider-Man sounded cocky. "I'm the sheriff round these parts."

"O.K," Marko said. Standard prison rule applied. Knock down the big man, the little fish avoid you.

Marko swung first. Spider-Man dodged easily. Marko jabbed again, hitting nothing but air.

Marko wasn't surprised. He'd heard too many stories about this man while inside.

Spider-Man punched back. Harder than any man could hit.

Marko let the blow go through him. Literally.

With a sudden gust of sand, Spider-Man was suddenly buried in Flint Marko up to his elbow.

Spider-Man spent a few seconds trying to pull the fist back, unsuccessfully. He took a moment to look his foe in the eyes sheepishly.

Marko bared his teeth, drew back a fist, which suddenly expanded to ten times a normal size…

…and Spider-Man was suddenly bashed out the back of the truck, bouncing down the street.

Having to catch up, Spider-Man caught the still-rushing truck in a web, caught one of the snapped off truck doors with his toes, and was suddenly pulled along behind it like a water-skier on concrete.

The webline attached to the truck pulled him out into oncoming traffic, and Spider-Man fired another web into a passing car to pull him back to the right side of the street.

Cars swerved to avoid him, and he jumped, pulling the broken door up with him like a skier hitting a jump, throwing him hard and fast into the sky again.

By that time, Marko was back on the roof of the truck, money-bags in hand. Spider-Man dove down like a dive-bomber, firing impact webbing as he dropped.

Marko took every hit to the torso, chunks of him being knocked away. Spider-Man thought that he'd actually felt it.

Marko grunted and swung at him with the bags of money as they got closer.

Spider-Man flipped as he dodged, landing him in front of Marko, quickly going into a low roundhouse kick, knocking Marko's feet out from under him. Literally.

Marko's legs both got severed in a sandy blast, and as the rest of him dropped, Spider-Man took the opportunity to steal back the moneybags and drop it into the truck again.

Marko didn't even bother to put himself back together before expanding his fist into a large square hammer, and knocking the bug off the truck.

Spider-Man managed to catch a webline, and start climbing back, when the sand hit him again, and sent him flopping out of control on the end of the web back into oncoming traffic, where a passing bus hit him full on, sending him back into the side of the out of control truck.

Where another massive sand hammer came down from the roof, hard enough to put him through the side of the truck into the messed up cargo hold.

Spider-Man fought to stand, when his spider-sense went off again. He looked out the windshield and saw that his luck had run out. At long last, the truck had reached the end of the street.

Moving fast, Spider-Man quickly fired a web into the unconscious driver and his partner, and pulled them free of the sand.

He threw both of them out the back to the truck, firing a huge spiral web to catch them safely…

…which was good, because the truck collided with the end of the street, and Spider-Man was sent rolling around the truck as metal rent with a horrific sound.

_Idiot, Parker!_ Spider-Man raged at himself. _You saw the sand cloud, you knew this guy wasn't typical, why didn't you stop the truck first?_

_Because you're the sheriff round these parts,_ he told himself, feeling foolish.

He clawed his way free, feeling like he'd just been in a car accident, and looked around. Some people were watching, one or two snapping photos, nobody seemed hurt by the accident, but there was a trail of debris down the main street causing damage.

Marko was gone.

* * *

Spider-Man went high enough to strip off his mask without being recognized, and spat out a mouthful of sand. "Where do all these guys come from?" he asked himself, not for the first time.

Then he dumped sand out of his boots, pulled his mask back on, and went about getting the bystanders out from under the wreckage of yet another supervillain fight.

* * *

Stephen closed his eyes, almost sorry he was parked inside Sarah's head right now watching all of this.

"_Hey, you think this is bad, try actually seeing it,_" he heard Sarah's voice tell him.

Stephen wasn't smiling. "**_Remember what you said about bailing another agent out of trouble today?_**"

"_I wish I'd been kidding._"

"**_Yeah, I wish you'd been, too._**"

"_Let's get out of here._"

"**_Good idea._**" He glanced around to see MJ looking both concerned and pissed off at the same time. "**_Hopefully Harry Osborn's behaving himself, because I think MJ may be about to go postal soon._**"

**

* * *

**

Gwen Stacy had suddenly become Manhattan's Most Eligible Bachelorette after The Spider Kiss, so Stephen didn't feel bad about letting her bask in her moment of "triumph" with the press. He quickly said his goodbyes, dispatched Moe Shrevnitz to check on the wounded in the area of the robbery, and headed out with Sarah for Cranston-Stephens Towers to tend to a more immediate wound…Mary Jane Watson's ego.

Sarah hadn't stopped ranting the entire trip. "I mean, it was less than two months!" she yelled for the thirty-first time as they came into the condo building.

"**_Ears all around us,_**" Stephen cautioned as they entered public spaces.

Sarah didn't quiet down much. "She sure made a turn around on Spidey, didn't she?"

"Being caught by a superhero an inch from death, to say nothing of learning the truth about an old grudge will…"

Sarah was glaring at him.

"And by that of course I mean, 'Yes, absolutely,'" Stephen backpedaled. "Is Peter here?"

Sarah concentrated as the elevator rose. "No. But MJ is. She's in his condo."

"This should be delightful," Stephen mumbled sarcastically as the elevator opened.

"And you two forgave her awful fast," Sarah picked up the rant without missing a beat, her voice dropped into biting sarcasm. "I mean, if she was four hundred pounds with black teeth, I bet you'd forgive her just as fast, of course, but what the Hell is wrong with _her_?"

Stephen knocked on the condo door. MJ opened it furiously.

"What the Hell is wrong with him?" MJ snapped at Stephen, whirling away from the door. Stephen led the way in behind her. "I mean, it's not like I expected him to point to me in the front row or anything, but you'd think that when presented with a choice, especially with GWEN STACY?" This last two were spat out with venom. "Then he's at least going to remember who's waiting at home."

"Him?" Sarah returned furiously. "What about HER? I mean, first she gets designs on Stephen here and tries to-"

"No, no, don't defend him!" the fiery redhead shot back. "We had something special going, it was good and I know he's gotta keep that mask on most of the time, so sure, why shouldn't he enjoy the kudos at last? But that kiss? That was _our_ kiss!"

"You mean that time you supposedly tested the upside down trick with John Jameson was just a silly rumor?" Stephen grinned.

MJ glared furiously at him.

"Which of course, is entirely different," Stephen backpedaled.

"You're backpedaling," MJ noticed.

"I have no guns," Stephen noted. "Nor a desire to die at this very moment."

"Oh, but you have no problems making peace with a woman who tried to kill _all_ of us LESS THAN TWO MONTHS AGO!" Sarah yelled at Stephen for the Thirty-Second time. "And just because you knew her doesn't change that, you knew Harry Osborn too!" She pointed at Stephen. "This man doesn't get kudos; he doesn't even get to tell people he exists."

"Yeah, whereas Spider-Man gets to go flying about with adoring fans waving, and teenage girls sunbathing nude on rooftops waving at him!"

"No!" Sarah blurted in disgust.

"Oh yes!" MJ snarled. "I got no problem with that, I mean, that's what goes with the territory, but he could at least keep MY Spider-Man private instead of broadcasting them out to the whole damn city. I was the one who taught him that upside down thing."

"Do they remember that?" Sarah sneered, waving her hand at Stephen. "Do they remember the ones who know the story?"

"Nope."

"Do they remember the ones who tape up the gaping wounds they can't reach?"

"Pish."

"Do they remember which girl got under their masks first and don't have huge awards to offer,"

"Bah."

"Un_grateful_."

"Damn straight."

Silence.

Sarah turned to Stephen."Why aren't you saying anything?!"

"Because words are so very dangerous right now." Stephen said carefully.

"You know, neither of us actively want to kill _you_."

Stephen was sitting very quietly on the couch. "Trust me, words cannot properly express my gratitude," he finally said.

MJ turned back to Sarah. "_Men_."

"_Super_-men," Sarah spat back.

"Supermen and _blondes_," MJ sneered.

At that point, Stephen decided they no longer were completely content with not wanting to kill him just for his prior association with said blonde, so he decided to fade away quietly while the two of them continued to rant.

* * *

Outside, Moe's cab finally finished its runs to the hospital and made it to the condo building. Stephen climbed into the back seat, brushed sand off the surface, then leaned back and shut his eyes against the day's madness. "Home, Shrevnitz, and you'll get a bonus for making it snappy."

The cab zoomed away from the curb and cut off three lanes of traffic and a city bus. Stephen barely cared.

Now the ringing of his cell phone, he cared about. "Stephen Cranston," he said into the receiver. "Chloe, if this is you, what the Hell were you thinking putting that bet…"

"It's me," Peter said into the line. "What bet did Chloe place?"

"Columbia vs. Stamford lacrosse this weekend. I told her to put a bet down for me. She bet _against_ Columbia. My Alma Mater, for crying out loud. I swear, I am surrounded by idiots."

Stephen did not sound happy, and Peter was not in the best of moods, but he wanted to clarify something, because he wasn't sure he liked the sound of what he was hearing… "Uh…speaking of which…"

"Yes, I'm talking about you, and no, you might not want to be at home right now."

"Wait…me? What the Hell?"

"Yeah, that was MJ's reaction, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll give you a hint," Stephen scorned. "It start's with 'G' and rhymes with 'Wen Stacy'"

"Ah," Peter said. "Not my best move."

"Not even your best reflex. And now, you need a new game plan."

Now Peter knew he didn't like the sound of this. "Meaning?"

"MJ's at a low point, while you are at a high. Do not meet her halfway. All the things we had planned out? Forget them."

"Are you…are you talking about what I think you're talking about?"

"Yes. We are no go. Abort the original plan."

"WHAT?" Peter was panicking. "What…You're telling me I ruined all of it with one stupid…with just that…I can't believe that it all went bad on us so quickly. Dammit, Stephen, we were doing this _Tomorrow night_! We had a _plan_!"

"We still do," Stephen stopped him. "We just need to alter our execution."

"EXECUTION?"

"Bad word," Stephen admitted.

"Very bad!"

"I knew they were dangerous," Stephen mumbled. "We need to change the implementation of the Proposal."

"From a way that'll work to a way that won't, you mean?" Peter shrieked.

"PARKER!" Stephen barked, loud enough that he could almost hear Peter snap to attention. "This is no longer about the build-up. MJ's plans for the future have taken a kick in the teeth. You need to make this something else. Something…romantic. Something…inspiring."

"O.K. How?"

"You're asking _me_ how to be romantic?"

"I thought you had plans. Backup plans, contingency plans, emergency plans. I need to stop saying 'plans'," Peter babbled.

"You're talking very fast right now," Stephen observed.

"Stephen…"

"Peter. If there's anybody who can make our MJ feel eleven feet tall it's you. Now that part of the game plan still works. You've got the reservation. You've got the ring. You've got the moment. How you use it is all different, but it's still just you and her."

Peter took a deep breath. "I can do this."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

"And Peter?"

"Yeah."

"Next time you're face to face with another woman in front of cameras, a crowd, and your girlfriend, do all us masked men a favor and keep your lips shut behind your damn mask!" Stephen snarled.

Peter swallowed. Gulped, would actually be the correct term. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Peter had known fear before. He was after all, a vigilante, but this was…he was working with a handicap, given what had happened the day before, but he knew he could overcome it. Maybe once MJ had to be on the outside of his life looking in, but she was part of the secret now. Part of the network, and still the light of his life.

Peter did one last spot check. His hair was straight, his suit was pressed, the ring was in hand, and the restaurant did not seem in any immediate danger of exploding into flames, getting robbed, or being attacked by a supervillain.

Across the street at a cozy hole-in-the-wall diner called the Café Rochelle, Stephen and Sarah were sitting on opposite sides of the window table, smiling at each other across coffee cups, looking heartwarmingly domestic. And if Stephen could look heartwarmingly domestic with a woman, anyone could.

Sarah looked over her shoulder at him through the window suddenly, and gave him a thumbs up.

Stephen followed her gaze, and gave Peter a proud smile.

This was it.

The rain started to gently shiver down from the night sky, and Peter headed inside. The feeling of abandoning the wet night for soft candlelight was a welcome atmosphere for what Peter had planned.

The Restaurant Constellation was one of the exclusive places New York had to offer, and it stood out among some stiff competition.

The foyer had a huge map of the world against one wall, and the other side in the restaurant proper was a starmap, giving a feeling not unlike being surrounded by five star dining, while somehow being under starlight.

It was an image special to MJ, as Spider-Man had taken her to enough heights to see star as it was.

_Please, God,_ Peter prayed, _let it be enough._

* * *

Sarah smiled gently and ran her fingers around the rim of her coffee cup. "What did it for you?"

Stephen sipped his own coffee. "Oh, no, I always go first. You tell me."

"It's not a competition."

"Didn't say it was."

But, of course, it was. With Stephen, _everything_ was a competition. Hard for it not to be with a man who was one of the few in the world who actually understood that there were such things as Good and Evil and that there was an actual war between them. "Tell me, Stephen, do you feel the need to win this conversation?"

"Course not," Stephen grinned. "But I could if I wanted too."

Sarah laughed.

* * *

Peter fought to settle his nerves and headed up to the reservation desk. The maître d', a man in a suit worth more than Stephen's, with oiled black hair and moustache, met him at the desk. "Bonsoir. Le Monsieur Le reservation?"

Peter felt a little out of place. "I'm sorry, I don't speak…"

"But this is a French restaurant, no?" The maître d' responded easily in heavily accented English.

Peter conceded the point. "Oui."

The maître d' gave a proud and impressed smile, with wide expansive gestures. "Ha ha! Name Please?"

"Parker, Peter."

With all the excess of the Maestro before his orchestra, the reservation book was opened. "Ah, reservation for two, Pecker."

"Parker," Peter corrected, still a little too wired to realize the man's accent.

"Oui, Pecker."

Peter licked his lips. The agreed game plan was gone, time to write the new one. "I have a request. My girlfriend will be here soon, and I have this ring…" He drew the resized ring from his pocket.

The man's face split in shared ecstatic joy. "Ah! So you wish to pop the question tonight?"

"Yes, and I want to do something very special."

The man behind the desk was getting just a little too pleased with this. "I love it. Romance. I am French," he said, as though confessing some shared secret.

With great reluctance, Peter handed it to him. "So if, when I signal you, you could bring some champagne over, with…"

"With the ring in the bottom of her glass?" The maître d' finished. He had clearly heard this story before. If the man had any snide thoughts about the size of the stone or the quality of the ring, he had grace enough not to show it. "Ahh, le magnifique."

"Perfect!" Peter smiled with some relief. He was working with a professional mood setter. "And if at the same time, the musicians could play this song…" He slid over a piece of paper.

The man took it. "Their favorite!" He beamed.

Peter felt better still. The plan seemed promising indeed. But the stakes were still as high. "Take care of the ring?"

"I will guard it with my life," The Frenchman said seriously.

* * *

**_End of Part Six_**


	7. That Went Well

_What has gone before: While Peter prepares for the most important moment of his life, since getting bitten by an above average Spider, MJ still tries to decide how to tell the man who adores her so that she lost her dream job. Meanwhile, Harry Osborn is still seemingly unaware, Flint Marko, now the Sandman has escaped from his first successful theft, and Stephen and Sarah wait, keeping each other company, waiting to see how the night unfolds…

* * *

_

The rain was beating a gentle rhythm on the glass beside their faces, and Sarah could feel her mood shifting back to what it was at Cranston Manor, that strange moment when she realized that their minds had almost intertwined. The previous day had been weird enough with Stephen inside her head watching the Spider-fight. She tried to move away from that moment with the description of her other man.

"His name was Davis," Sarah said. "He was my college sweetie. I was studying journalism. He was into medicine." Sarah smiled sadly. "It was nice. And he knew how to handle me."

"I'll bet he did," Stephen chuckled, warm and soft.

"Not like that," Sarah teased. "It's probably not very feminist to say, but he knew how to take care of me. When to make me talk things out, and when to shut up and pour me a drink, make me dinner. He was a lot like you that way. Except, obviously, not richer than God."

"Few men are. So, what went wrong?"

"I was twenty. He was twenty-two going on twelve. I had dreams of Pulitzers, and toward the end of our relationship, I realized he thought my roommate was better looking."

"Enough said," Stephen agreed. "So what did it for you?"

"His hands," Sarah drawled, low and smooth. "He was studying medicine, gave up on being a doctor, and actually took up massage. He had magic hands; could relax me so…easily. He liked my ankles."

"Your ankles?" Stephen repeated.

She licked her lips. The mood had turned so…sensuous. "He had a minor in literature, I was journalism major, and so we spent a lot of time watching movies based on the classics. We'd watch them in his dorm room, on either end of this old torn-up couch he had, and I'd sit with my feet up in his lap."

Stephen's legs suddenly froze still below the table, and Sarah realized for the first time just how close he was. The tables in front of the window was small, the rain against the glass beside them giving the whole thing a feeling of isolation. The small table set them close to each other, practically knee to knee, coffee cups bringing them so close to touching...

She shook off the spell, feeling dangerous ground beneath her feet. "Now you."

Stephen didn't look up from his coffee. "Her name was Diane. It was just after I took up the family business." He looked a little melancholy too. "It was nice while it lasted."

"So what went wrong?" Sarah probed.

"I was too young and isolated to see she had plans of her own. Plus I was just starting out on my own crusade, and toward the end of our relationship I realized she was an accountant for a crime lord and threw her in jail."

Sarah threw her napkin at him. "O.K., you win!" she murmured.

He gave an amused smile at her, even making that gesture seem sensuous…

Sarah immediately dropped that line of thought. Stephen was relaxing a bit again, his leg was moving gently against hers, but given how close they sat at the table, she couldn't tell if it was deliberate... "What did it for you?"

He picked up his coffee. "Promise not to laugh?"

"Scouts honor."

"It was her neck." He immediately sipped his coffee to hide his reaction.

Sarah smiled, stopping short of a chuckle. "Her neck?"

Stephen spoke, feeling himself caught in whatever spell the conversation seemed to be weaving. "She was…about your height, and her shoulder was exactly the right height, so that you could rest your chin on it. So when she wore her hair down, it was like you could… drink her in."

"She didn't mind?"

"She liked it. She liked the city too. We went around to all the landmarks, and all the places with exhibits or views. Skyscrapers, zoos, concerts. She would always stand herself in front of me and lean herself back against me while we were looking at whatever. She would pull me to her; and I could always feel her pulse, her breath, her perfume…" He took a sip of his coffee as the rain slowly eased outside. "She liked my voice," he hummed.

Sarah shivered pleasantly. "Your voice?"

"She was pretty sharp, but her skill was with numbers. She didn't read as much of a hobby. So, sometimes, I would read aloud for her, and…well, I was taught all about how to use your tone of voice to make people react in various ways. Fear, surprise, passion, relaxation. I liked talking to her…and she could…well, draw me out. That was a rare thing with me. Always knew when to listen, when to speak. She was a lot like you that way."

Sarah felt her face flush again. She hoped she didn't look as… tense… as she felt.

Stephen was breathing a little harder too, and both of them took a long moment. Sarah tried to pretend she wasn't glancing at his fingers, Stephen pretending she hadn't tucked her hair behind her ear.

They had quite suddenly run out of words, and were left just looking at each other, as though the entire universe had faded around them.

Stephen seemed a little stained, but not half as much as she felt herself, toying with his cup, rolling a sugar packet between his fingers.

Sarah couldn't stop glancing at his hands, moving gently, like an absent nervous habit. But Sarah could see the way his hands were getting closer to hers...

Sarah was knowingly rubbing her leg against his under the table, neither of them making eye contact for long, hiding her smiles behind her cup... _What are you doing Sarah? You're __flirting__ with him. What the hell are you __doing__?_

Neither moved.

"You ever think about it?" Sarah asked quietly.

"We've had this conversation," Stephen told her.

"Not about that, about…I don't know."

Stephen looked at her. "There's no…moment. You don't think about it. Nobody decides to find someone attractive. Nobody decides to fall in love. It's one of those things you can't force."

Sarah shook her head. "I don't buy it. Everyone thinks about it. Everyone decides."

Stephen shook his head. "Everyone decides if they do anything about it. They don't talk themselves out of feeling things, just out of acting on the, asking her out, telling her how the rain made her hair look sexy when she came in..."

"Guess so," Sarah whispered. _My hair was wet when I came in... Is he... He is! He's __flirting__ with me too!_ Sarah suddenly realized.

"So, what do we do now?" She asked quietly, twirling a lock of her hair over one finger, over her neck, shivering when she saw his eyes follow the gesture...

"What do we do indeed?" Stephen drawled. Stephen was absently running a finger around the rim of his coffee cup. …

Long silence. Sarah was stirring the foam out of her empty coffee cup, putting the spoon in her mouth, liking the way he flushed when he watched...

"Want another coffee?" Stephen said finally, as she set down her empty cup.

"No," Sarah said quietly, not looking away from him.

"Me neither," Stephen confessed, finally meeting her gaze.

There were no sounds but the rain trickling against the glass. There was no movement except the gentle movements of their hands, barely brushing each other...

The moment stretched until it almost became uncomfortable, when Sarah suddenly looked out the window.

Stephen followed her gaze. Mary Jane had arrived, and was going into the restaurant.

Sarah smiled and looked at Stephen. "Well."

Stephen grinned back, the spell broken by the arrival of the main event. "Show time."

* * *

MJ came into the restaurant, and the first thing she saw was Spider-Man kissing Gwen Stacy. Even the damn French Ringmaster in this place was reading about it.

He quickly put the paper away as she approached. "I'm here to meet Peter Parker," she said, not sure what her feelings were right now but knowing that she wasn't at all happy about what had happened earlier and didn't like reminders. "Reservation for two?"

The man beamed enormously at her. "Oui, Madame, your companion has already arrived! May I take your coat?"

She surrendered the jacket to him, and was shown to the table. A part of her appreciated the effort, but it felt like Peter was dressing up the occasion of her failure. The whole city was buzzing about his lip lock with another woman; on the heels of her getting fired from her big break. Odds were that Broadway show was the reason Peter had splurged on this restaurant, unless he'd taken a loan from Stephen to pay for it. And that idea made her feel even worse, because she could so easily picture the look of disappointment on his face when he heard she was sacked.

_This is going to be awful,_ she decided as the Maître d' left them to enjoy their "romantic" dinner alone. _Stephen, if you can hear me, I would rather be __anywhere__ else than here.

* * *

_

Sarah frowned at the Peeping Tom sensation in her brain. "She does _not_ look happy," she said aloud.

Stephen was annoyed that Sarah was looking in on the young lovers against his orders. But he was also curious. "Is she faking it well?"

"Almost as well as she sang Opening Night."

Stephen frowned. "_**Stop looking right now or I will be forced to wall off your brain for the rest of the evening,**_" he mentally ordered.

Sarah looked back at him and rolled her eyes. "It's not like you don't pry into personal lives."

"You want to turn out like me?"

"Good comeback."

"Thank you. Leave them alone."

"I make no promises." She shook her head. "She's probably just nervous over whether that place is within Peter's budget."

* * *

"Hi," Peter beamed as she came over and gave him a kiss. "Look at you, beautiful."

"This place in your budget?" she asked uncertainly.

Peter didn't let the question faze him. He had a cover prepared. "Well, it's a special occasion, you're on Broadway…"

MJ's face slipped a little. Peter didn't notice it right away. "I don't feel like much of a star tonight," she said, trying not to let her frustration bring down the mood of the evening, even though she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he'd been so insistent that they go through with dinner. Even Stephen had cancelled UTUP for this, and that took some doing.

"But you are a star," Peter promised her. "And you've earned it."

MJ felt sick. How was she going to break this to him? "Peter…," she began, "you have no idea how I feel right now."

Peter gave her an understanding look. "No, I know exactly how you feel. Listen, I have been through this, it happens to me all the time. I see Spider-Man posters in the windows, kids running around with me on their sweaters…I've used Halloween costumes as backup masks myself. It's a big ticket item. I've become something of an icon, and I keep thinking, I'm just this nerdy kid from Queens, do I really deserve this?"

MJ just looked at him, stricken. _God Almighty, Peter…

* * *

_

Across the street, Sarah and Stephen were sitting in a diner, grinning stupidly at each other. Sarah was looking out the window at the restaurant.

"Calm down," Stephen told her. "You can't see them from here." Beat. "Well, _you _probably can."

"Oh come on, you can't tell me you aren't more interested than you're acting."

"Can so."

"See, a year ago I might have fallen for that, but I've spent some time as an awakened adept now, and you know what? I can tell when you're getting keyed up. I can feel it, like I'm holding a live wire. You've got a stone wall poker face and everything I can see say's 'indifferent' but your mind is a barely contained lightning storm, and I must be the only person for two hundred miles than can sense it."

Stephen was giving her that look. "Yeah. Yeah you are."

"Then why are you here?" Sarah pounced.

"Because if I weren't, then you'd be looking at them mentally right now, so I'm here to make sure they get their privacy."

"You don't want to know what happens?"

"I've got a pretty good idea of the plan. Besides, Peter's supposed to right me on my cell the second she says yes."

"Sneak."

"Snoop," Stephen fired back.

"Ghoul," Sarah grinned back at him.

* * *

Peter was still trying to overcome MJ's impossible modesty, when he noticed, of all people, Gwen coming over.

She saw him too and waved.

Peter waved back.

The maître d' saw the motion and quickly summoned his staff, musicians, champagne, attendants all quickly gathered.

As Gwen came over, Peter quickly waved him off, making a quick throat cut gesture. The Frenchman took it in stride and quickly scattered his staff before they could be noticed.

MJ didn't notice, her gaze fixed firmly on the blonde as she came over.

"Hey!" Gwen enthused. "It's great to see you guys!"

"What are you doing here?" MJ asked, not at all sharply. Not really.

If Gwen thought the question pointed, it didn't show. "I'm here with my friends, they're taking me out to celebrate the big Spider-Man thing yesterday." She quickly glanced at Peter. "Oh and Pete, thanks for your notes from Connors class that day."

"No problem," Peter assured her.

Gwen turned to MJ and explained. "After that thing on Thursday with the crane, I didn't exactly feel like going back to a classroom, so Peter had to loan me his notes. He's saving my life every day in that classroom."

"He does that," agreed MJ.

Gwen had her hand on his shoulder._ Calm! _MJ commanded herself. _We're all friends here. She's done that ten thousand times before, just like Sarah, just like Stephen for that matter. Not an issue._

Except that Gwen Stacy was the _one_ person that MJ could not fake being nice to at this moment. Not at all. And the woman was _not_ taking the huge hint of "Go Away Now Or I Will Ram A Salad Fork Down Your Throat" that MJ was trying to give off.

"Hey, did you see me? I was on the stage yesterday," Gwen bubbled.

_Yeah,_ MJ thought clinically, and pulled out her cell phone, speed dialing quietly.

"It was kind of hard not to see," Peter was saying, amused.

Gwen laughed musically.

"So I take it you've gotten over your dislike of the Masked man then?" Peter asked, looking a little too interested in the answer.

_Of course he's interested,_ MJ warned herself. _He's Spider-Man, after all; you want to know that she's O.K. with him now too._

Gwen's smile slipped just a little, but she didn't let it hurt her. "Oh, yeah. Stephen was a big help with that, and then of course last week…"

MJ set the phone down on the table.

* * *

Stephen's cell phone rang.

Sarah whooped. "Yeah!"

Stephen answered it. "Hello?"

Sarah jumped up and came to the other side of the table, practically sitting on Stephen's lap to get to the phone. "MJ? You don't get to make me a bridesmaid till I've seen the dress!"

Stephen laughed and pushed her away. "Will you grow up? Peter, give me the good news!"

A voice came through the phone. "Say, where were you anyway? I didn't see you in the crowd."

Stephen blinked. "Gwen?"

"Gwen?" Sarah echoed and put her face near the phone again.

Stephen turned slightly in surprise and suddenly found himself with his nose in her hair…neck-to-neck. Stephen swallowed.

"What's going on?" Sarah was whispering.

Stephen shook himself and tried to regain his focus. "Not sure."

"Oh, don't worry, I had a good view," Peter was chuckling.

"Better than mine and I was in the front row," MJ commented.

Stephen was instantly on his feet. "Stay here!"

_To Hell with privacy,_ Sarah thought, and squeezed her eyes shut, as Stephen crossed the street outside without bothering to look.

Tires screeched, drivers yelled angrily, and Sarah could see her two friends clearly in her minds eye as disaster unfolded.

* * *

"Well, I don't want to interrupt; I just wanted to say hi." She turned to go, and then turned back. "Oh, Peter, do you still have the film from yesterday? I want to see if I can get a copy of my kiss with Spiderman."

"Really?" Peter thought he saw Stephen pushing his way past the wait staff at a dead run.

"For my portfolio." Gwen grinned and shared a conspiratorial wink with MJ. "It's not every day a girl gets to kiss Spiderman."

MJ grinned tightly. "I can't even imagine."

Stephen was suddenly at the table. "Gwen!" he blurted as MJ discreetly put her cell phone away, grateful that he had gotten there so fast.

Gwen turned. "Stephen! Hi!"

Stephen took the blonde's elbow. "You having dinner here? Because I can get you a better table."

"Lead the way."

At that moment, the Maître d' had remembered himself and shaken himself free of the annoyed musicians. "Sir," he said firmly to Stephen, "I do not want to be rude, but I _am_ French, and you have no reservation!"

"He's with me," Gwen said promptly. "And he's paying, so set another place at my table for Mr. _Cranston_."

Stephen had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Gwen was never shy about his money, had never put him on the spot about it, and had long learned the way people had reacted to it. Of all his friends, she had taken to the fact that he was a billionaire fastest.

The Cranston name worked its magic over the maître d', and the Frenchman suddenly grinned most agreeably. "Monsieur Cranston, of course." He took in Gwen, and her table, where the other two models from the skyscraper incident were watching with great interest.

Gwen waved at her two friends again as Stephen led Gwen aside to the other side of the restaurant.

Peter returned the wave instinctively.

The Frenchman saw it and beamed eagerly, summoning his men.

Peter waved him off again.

The Frenchman shrugged it off and led Stephen and Gwen back to their table. "Can I get you anything while we organize your place setting, monsieur?"

"Martini, dry with three olives, please," Stephen ordered.

The Frenchman looked at Gwen and her two model friends sitting around the table as Stephen took a seat. "Oui, monsieur, the best things, they come in threes, do they not?"

Gwen sniggered as he scurried away.

"See how a billionaire gets a reputation in this town?" Stephen commented idly to Gwen.

Peter and MJ were suddenly left alone.

* * *

Sitting across the street with her eyes squeezed shut, Sarah grinned, despite the image of Stephen, Gwen, and two magazine models sitting themselves down at a table. "Good boy." She told him quietly.

* * *

Peter looked confused at MJ. "What's wrong?"

"What was that?" MJ demanded.

"What was what?"

"Yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"That was _our_ kiss!" MJ snapped, feeling juvenile, but too angry to care. "You must have known that. You must have known how that would make me feel. Are you trying to push me away?"

"Trying to push you away?" Peter couldn't stop repeating her. "Why would I do that? I love you."

"I know you do. Whereas Spider-Man loves every damsel he saves."

Peter flared. "That's not fair!"

"No?"

"No. I got a little high on the crowd yesterday, I'll cop to that. But how many years were the people in charge of this city calling for my head on a plate? I rescue a kid from a burning building and get blamed for starting the fire. I rescued a kidnapped kid once, gave her over to a cop, and she screams 'Spider-Man was the kidnapper all along! Grab the freak!' I got given the key to the city yesterday, by a girl we both called friend, and I was honestly worried she was about to become an enemy."

"Well, you certainly made up with her," MJ scorned. "Quite publicly, in fact."

Peter could feel his frustration growing. "Spider-Man's a mask. A part to play. You know what that's like."

"I do."

"How many guys have you kissed on stage, MJ?"

"Pretended to kiss. When the script that someone else wrote calls for it."

"Pretended to kiss and further."

"Oh come on!" MJ snapped. "I've always been completely up front with you about the parts I play, By the way, who do I rehearse all those scenes with, Romeo?"

Fed up, Peter finally fired back. "Completely up front? Really?"

"Really."

"So where have you been slipping off to with Stephen every night?"

MJ's mouth shut with an audible click.

Peter nodded. "That's what I thought. Still want to have this conversation?"

MJ stood up and walked out. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well," she said shortly. "Don't follow me."

And as the final kick to the ego, the musicians started to play her signature song from the forsaken Broadway show.

The merry tune chased her out into the rain.

Peter collapsed back into his seat in defeat as the staff set up the champagne, and "They Say It's Wonderful" swelled into its own. "Yep. That went well."

* * *

Stephen glanced over his shoulder and saw Peter fishing the ring out of a champagne flute. "Yep, that went well."

* * *

Tossing down her napkin in disgust, Sarah stopped watching mentally, and saw MJ storming down the street for a cab. "Yep. That went well."

But then a fact she knew and thought she really understood hit her squarely in the logic processing. _MJ's slipping off with Stephen __every__ night?

* * *

_

Peter made it home, fully intending to call MJ right away. He got off the elevator and pounded on the door.

She didn't answer. So she wasn't there, or she was avoiding him. Either seemed likely tonight.

Peter knew better than to force this now. If it feels wrong, abort. That's what Stephen had said.

Peter crossed the hall, let himself into his apartment and kicked himself. "How could I be so stupid?" He hissed at himself. It wasn't like he'd forgotten that the upside-down thing was just for MJ, but the crowd was screaming, and that was no small thing. It wasn't an upside-down kiss, it was a kiss in which he had _happened _to be upside down.

Why was MJ so edgy? What had he done?

The phone rang. Peter pounced on it.

He'd thought that his night was at the low point.

He was wrong.

"Peter?" It was his Aunt May. "I just got a phone call… The police… they want us to come in to talk to them. Both of us."

* * *

_**End of Part Seven**_


	8. The Anger's Changing Me!

_The Story So Far: Even as the New York Loves Spiderman Day is happening, a new supervillain, Flint Marko, takes the city by sand-storm, and Spiderman loses the first round. But Peter has other things on his mind, like the fact that Harry Osborn, now aware of his father's past and Peter's Identity, has just tried to kill him. With Harry safely memory-wiped by the Shadow, Peter can turn his attention to proposing to his girlfriend MJ Watson. But Mary Jane is at the lowest point of her recent life, having lost her big break on Broadway; and is struggling with keeping the bad news form her boyfriend. This is not the only secret she is keeping from her friends, as she continues to meets secretly with Stephen. The proposal went horrifically wrong, and Peter and MJ slink home awkwardly. The night has just begun for our heroes, as peter is summoned by his Aunt May to the police station, for some stunning news._

* * *

Cardona put the first photo down, and Peter felt his heart start to race. He looked up at Joe in shock. This was it. The law had put it together. First Spider-sighting, Ben Parker deceased, his killer deceased. Someone had put it together, and Joe was warning him.

But why was Aunt May here? _She must know already!_ Peter had long suspected it, but now he knew for sure.

"Originally, we thought that this was the man who killed your husband. Dennis Carradine." Cardona said gently to May.

_I never knew his name._ Peter realized. _Wait… 'Originally we thought'?_

"We were wrong." Cardona said bluntly, and Peter felt his racing heart suddenly stop. "It seems he was just an accomplice."

"What?" May croaked softly.

Cardona looked sympathetically at them both, sharing a secret glance with Peter. "The actual killer is still at large."

Peter felt cold all over his skin, and boiling heat gathering inside.

Cardona sent him another glance, making his ring a little more visible The intention was clear. It was a message. _The network is with you. You aren't alone, and you are not without backup._

Peter appreciated it not at all. He didn't want help. He didn't want backup. He wanted…

Cardona slid another mugshot over. "This is the man, who killed your husband.

Peter could hear it. It was like a bass drumbeat.

The mugshot was the same man who had robbed the Armored truck. The mugshot said 'Flint Marko'.

The Sandman had a name.

And had killed his uncle?

Peter could feel the pressure building in his head. His chest was getting tight. He was back in the empty harbor house. He was back, face to face with the carjacker. The one with short spiky hair who had stolen from the fight promoter. The one that Peter had let get away because karma was a funny thing sometimes…

The man Peter had chased had seen Spiderman's face, and then fallen four stories to his death. Peter had let him die.

No, that wasn't true… he had tried to catch him before he fell, hadn't he?

He had to have tried. Because if that man hadn't been the one to kill Ben, then he didn't deserve…

"You got this wrong." Peter whispered. He was up out of his seat. He couldn't look at May. Not right now. He took Marko's picture with him, replaying the worst night of his existence in his head. Marko couldn't be the killer, because if he was, then it meant he had gone unpunished for so long… it meant that the man who had fallen to his death that night…

"His name is Flint Marko. He's a small time thug, who's been in and out of prison. Two nights ago, he escaped. His cellmate was a jailhouse snitch, and apparently Marko confessed his guilt to your husband's death. He broke out when he found out he was about to be charged with murder. His story matches some details that never made the press, it checks out all along the line…"

Cardona was still talking. But Peter couldn't hear him over the sudden roaring in his ears. He was breathing hard. Then the man who had fallen to his death that night… wasn't the killer. And Peter hadn't moved fast enough to save him. The man who killed his uncle lived. Not only lived, he had become superhuman. Not only become superhuman, he had humiliated Spiderman, on his own special day!

"Please, be patient with us." Cardona was saying to May. "We're doing our jobs. We'll catch him."

"No." Peter said savagely. "You aren't doing your jobs. I watched my uncle die and now you're telling me we chased down the wrong man?"

He could see Cardona registering the choice of words, confirming that the network, or it's agents had been involved in some way.

Peter knew he'd slipped, but was far too homicidal to care. "You're telling me that for two years, you've had evidence, details, _suspicions_? Why Weren't We Told About This?"

"Settle down, sir."

"Settle down?" Peter repeated. "I have no intention of settling down!"

The pressure pushed something hard enough. Something that had been building for years finally broke to the surface. A dark ugly thing that was born when he'd held his dying family. Something that had been fed with every one of Jameson's rants, every false headline, every time he had been fired from a job because of Spiderman, or had swallowed his frustration when some hole in the wall landlord had demanded rent, every innocent life Spiderman failed to save, every fight that went badly, every bystander caught in the middle…

* * *

Telepathic minds dream vividly, as Stephen knew all too well. Across town in his study, Stephen had dozed off in his leather cahir, a snifter of brandy half drunk in his hand.

Stephen's eyes danced under his closed eyelids as he slept...

* * *

_The dragon was seething against its chains. 'You will never be strong enough. You will never be fast enough. You will never be good enough without me. Nothing's stopping you so __**please**__ Release Me!'_

_Stephen was small and helpless, pulling back the chains that held his dragon in check, when suddenly the chain in his hand turned into thick black spiderwebs._

_The dragon roared against its bonds as spiderwebs broke out all over its death-black skin.

* * *

_

Stephen sat up in his chair and gasped. The snifter had exploded in his hand, and blue-white flames licked over his fingers.

* * *

The pressure in Peter's head broke through. Something dark awoke. Something deep inside snapped. Something vicious howled.

Peter howled with it. "THIS MAN KILLED MY UNCLE! AND HE'S STILL OUT THERE!"

Peter stormed out, not caring that May and Cardona we both left staring after him.

* * *

Stephen fought to get his breath back. Somewhere, he could hear a dragon roaring.

Stephen squeezed his eyes shut, reaching out with his mind. He felt nothing now. He felt nothing…

_Something touched his mind tentatively._

_It asked to come in._

_Surprised, Stephen gave it permission._

Sarah came into the room, with a hand to her temple. "Whoa!"

Stephen suddenly laughed. "That was your first lesson in empathic connections."

Sarah had a huge smile. "That was… fun. I've never…" She suddenly noticed the exploded glass in his hand. "Did I do that…?"

"No. I did." Stephen said, shaking off the feeling. "Bad dream… I think."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Never have before. Besides, we have more important issues. Get a bucket of ice-water." Stephen commented as Sarah came further in. "We're gonna need something to hose Peter down with. Maybe MJ too."

"Oh?"

"The Bugle's getting nominated for a Pulitzer, for the photo of Gwen's rescue from the crane." Stephen handed her the paper and pointed out the article.

"The photo's that good?" Sarah asked, and scanned it quickly.

"I hate to say it, but it is."

"But still, a Pulitzer for the Bugle, just because it's carrying this photo…" Sarah questioned. "It's just a picture."

"'The Afghan Girl.' 'Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima.' 'V-J Day Times Square' 'Jack Ruby.' 'Abbey Road.' 'Fire on Marlborough Street' 'Armstrong on the moon' 'The Falling Man.' They aren't just pictures. The right moment is immortal."

"Yeah, and with the picture of Spiderman lip to lip with _Gwen Stacy_!" The last two words were spat with venom. "…there's a good story to tell around cocktail parties to go with it."

"Okay, first of all, stop treating my big sister like the Other Woman." Stephen interrupted. "She doesn't know Spiderman's seeing _anyone_, let alone MJ. Second of all, I'm the one that put her on stage; and Gwen tried to give MJ that spot. I was the one that insisted it be Gwen."

"I know, but MJ's been working up a good mad for days, and…"

Stephen sighed. "Should have gone with Michael Buble."

"What?"

"He bought up the rights to that stupid Spiderman jingle. It's a viral hit. Look up 'Michael Buble Spiderman Jazz' on Youtube. I was _this_ close to giving him the opening act. It would have been him and not Gwen."

"Peter hates that song."

"Which is why I went with Gwen. I was trying to be nice."

"Well now you know better." Sarah teased. "Anyway, I'm here about something else."

Stephen sighed and sat up straighter, already knowing what she was about to say. "Marko."

"I'm looking at Brock's other photo from the truck heist, and it looks an awful lot like a mugshot I saw recently."

"By now the guards from the money truck have said the same."

Sarah sighed. "We've got to tell Peter."

"Not a job I relish." Stephen agreed. He picked up the phone. "Joe Cardona please." He glanced at Sarah. "Might be best if you let me tell him personally."

"What will he do?"

"Spiderman doesn't kill people. But this guy… this one above all people…"

"He's a supervillain now too." Sarah pointed out. "You can't handle this one without Spiderman."

"Don't know that I can handle this one _with_ Spiderman, but it's Peter's fight." He turned his attention back to the phone. "Joe? It's Stephen Cranston. The Sun is shining." A pause as he heard the code phrase back. "Listen, about the Marko file, I'll brief Parker personally. I know the usual procedure is… really?" Stephen's face clouded. "Nice. Okay, forget I called." He hung up.

"What?" Sarah asked with concern.

"The police briefed Peter and May Parker on the new information regarding Ben Parker's death. Ten minutes ago."

Sarah sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. "Peter will be here soon."

"Here or MJ's." Stephen agreed. "You should be far away from here when he arrives. No sense both of us being in the crossfire."

"You think he'll be that mad?"

Stephen looked hard at her. "Khan got away. Every day that he lives is another failure. Every day I haven't killed him gnaws at me. And I was obsessed with this mission long before he killed Victor. Marko made Spiderman. And Peter's never going to forgive him for it."

"We just got done having the whole city celebrate the fact that Spiderman was around." Sarah retorted.

"And Peter appreciates it. Just not tonight."

Andrew came in. "Miss Watson on line one for you sir."

Sarah nodded a goodbye to Stephen and ducked out as Stephen picked up the phone.

* * *

Peter had once wondered how it was that Stephen could be so impatient one minute, and then, literally an few minutes later, stand still as a statue while on a mission, for hours at a time.

Now he knew.

Peter, by all accounts a man made for movement, hadn't moved more than his index finger so much as a millimeter in over two hours. His finger was tapping compulsively on the windowsill, and Peter himself wasn't even noticeably breathing.

There was a knock on the door. Peter still didn't move.

Another knock. Peter didn't move.

"Peter?" MJ called. "I know you're in there. Sarah told me."

Peter sighed and opened the door. "And I laughed when Stephen said how annoying she could be."

MJ smirked lightly and came in. "Listen, this isn't about what happened at the restaurant. There's no reason to get into that. Not now."

"Okay."

"I know about Flint Marko."

Peter felt his eye twitch. "Stephen moved fast didn't he?"

"Stephen didn't call me. Aunt May did." MJ told him. "She's worried about you. I'm worried about you too."

"Don't be." Peter told her firmly. "I'm fine."

"Fine?" MJ repeated, trying out the word. "Fine, is one of those words you use…"

"I'm fine." Peter told her firmly.

MJ took him in, and laid her hand across his cheek. "I don't want you to do something stupid."

"Like try to find my uncle's killer?" Peter asked her, stunned.

"Like finding him and doing something you'll regret." MJ corrected. "Like with the other guy."

'The other guy' Peter reflected, was the one that he'd thought had pulled the trigger. 'The other guy' who had died that night, on Spiderman's first hunt. 'The other guy' who had turned out to be innocent of murder after all.

Peter's jaw worked. "He had a gun on me!" Peter protested. "I made a move, and he fell out the window, I told you that!"

MJ nodded. "I know, and I believed it then, I still do. I'm not accusing you of anything. Peter, I'm here because I care about you. I know you made a mistake and you feel guilty.

'Made a mistake?' Peter repeated to himself, feeling his eyes get a little wider. 'Made the mistake' of chasing 'the other guy'. 'Made the mistake' of letting him fall to his death.

Peter could feel that suffocating anger filling him again.

"You don't?" MJ pressed.

"I do." Peter amended. "But not right now. Right now… I need…"

"You need Stephen's help." MJ said softly.

"Yes."

"Stephen won't worry about you doing something you'll regret." MJ said quietly. "If Stephen had been there with that other guy… he would have tossed him out the window deliberately."

Peter humphed. "Probably."

"Peter, I love you, and I'm worried about you, and I want you to know that I'm here." She told him. "Stephen's organizing everything, but you know how he operates. I don't want you to do something you'll regret. You're better than that. Purer than that. Than _him_."

Peter took a breath. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I know what you mean, and I'm grateful. But I'm okay."

"Don't be afraid to ask me for help Peter." MJ whispered. "Everyone needs it sometimes. Even Spiderman. Even The Shadow. Maybe especially you two."

Peter didn't answer as she let herself out.

Peter felt better after MJ had left. The roaring pressure that had been building in his head had eased. The darkness that was suffocating his thoughts had been pushed back. MJ always had that effect on him. Keeping him grounded and walking on air at the same time. He loved her so much.

Another knock. "Come in."

It was Stephen. He was dressed all in jet black, and had nothing but Shadow focus in his eyes.

"Peter, my partner, my brother. The resources of three generations, the entire fortune of the society elite, the complete investigative branch of a New York City Beat Newspaper team, and the most organized, far reaching, well funded clandestine network of secret operatives are at your full disposal. What do you wish of them?"

Peter matched it with equal calm. "Find Flint Marko."

Stephen sat down, and made a large Manila folder appear, like a magicians coin. "Flint Marko, the complete story. Married. One daughter. I think that daughter is the key. Her name is Penny. He started committing crimes to pay for her medical treatments. But he's not a very good crook when he doesn't have superpowers so he's been in and out of jail. She was diagnosed with-"

"I don't _care_ about his daughter." Peter interrupted. "I just need to know where he is."

Stephen took that in and closed the folder. "His former residence is being watched. So are his old cronies. Agents dressed as police are searching out his old accomplices, fences, bookies, etc. A citywide manhunt is underway. I have forty or so agents with CB radios and Police Scanners listening on all frequencies. I have an extra one on the way here, which is geared with a code breaker. It'll let you hear police bands and silent alarms. I've also had Cardona put out a police hunt for things like sandstorms and dust clouds, and my agents at the weather stations in skyscrapers around the city are doing the same. We'll find him."

* * *

But after three hours with the new scanner set up, and the sun lowering into the horizon outside, they had nothing.

"Some super agent team." Peter scoffed.

"Three hours in? Peter, we're hunting a man who can literally turn into a cloud of dust. Give it time."

"I don't WANT to GIVE IT TIME!" Peter snapped. He was instantly contrite. "Sorry."

Stephen didn't even flinch.

Peter spoke after a moment. "MJ's worried I'm going to do something I regret."

Stephen made a noise, as though this was a point worth considering.

"You agree?"

"Depends what 'something you'll regret' means. It's always been easier to ask forgiveness than permission." Stephen smirked and shook his head. "Will you 'regret' it if he dies?"

Peter shivered. "Honest to god, I'm not sure."

"We've been orphaned, raised by our uncles, learned everything they know, only to have our second father ripped for us in a moment of failure, and had the guilt torture us into a life of fighting an impossible battle for somebody else where the odds are insane and the rules don't exist. We are so alike you and I. I could never understand how you… how you weren't like me."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle bitterly. "Stephen, when we find him, I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

Stephen nodded. "But you know you _have_ to do it."

"Whatever 'it' turns out to be." Peter agreed.

"Keep the police scanner." Stephen suggested. "You can get back to it after patrol."

"I can't patrol." Peter hissed. "Not like this. I'm not looking for crooks. I'm looking for one crook."

"It would be faster if you were out there when he struck again." Stephen counseled.

"And it would have been easier to get to Khan's speedboat the night he killed Victor, if I had swung you instead of taking the cab." Peter shot back. "Some hunts one must take up alone from beginning to end."

Stephen took stock of his partner, and moved closer. He siezed the Spiderman by his shoulders and got in close, eye to eye. "Remember this feeling Peter." Stephen hissed, cold as ice, savage as a knife edge. "This is the force of Vendetta."

MJ's voice came back to him then. '_You're_ _better than that. Purer than that. Than _him_'_

But right then, Stephen's voice was clearer. _'Easier to ask forgiveness than permission.'_

Peter and Stephen met each others gaze, and acknowledged the fury growing over New York.

* * *

Peter was in his costume, sitting still as a statue in his condo, mask in hand, just waiting.

And when Stephen had left to make a full patrol; to cover Spiderman's absence, he just kept waiting.

And when the scanner gave him no proper clues he kept listening.

Aand when it started to fade he roused himself enough to turn up the volume.

But finally, Peter was starting to fall asleep.

* * *

And in the corner, his discarded other costume, still stained and filthy from the Shuttle Crash and the Hudson River; started to shift. It forced itself to move, at the edge of it's strength.

Holding still over the last hour had been the hardest thing it had ever done. The energy source that had rescued it was close, and it's light had intensified with a savage inner glow over the last hour. It was something chemical, something emotional…

And it was so powerful.

Nevertheless, it had waited. It could not hope to reach it's host like this, nearly dead from deprivation. It knew to wait.

And finally, it's new host had slept.

It forced itself to create motion, to climb upward toward it's host.

It sank itself into the energy with both excitement and contentment in equal measure, and at last, it could feed.

But this host was strong. Strong and savage and untamed. To be allowed to stay in its unparalleled company, more effort would be needed. It would need to give something in exchange.

It made a study of it's new home. Yes, this creature had needs, had wants, had desires denied.

Not for long.

* * *

_Peter was having a horrific dream. _

_He dreamed he was climbing the side of a building, unmasked. The world seemed strange, skewed and off kilter._

_When he got to the top of the building, something was waiting at the roof._

_It was a mass of pure black, which raised itself and glared down at him with hollow death-head eyes. The black tar like mass reached down and wrapped him up in a fist. He tried to break free, but the suffocating mass was alive around his middle._

_When suddenly, there was another grip around him, this one was familiar. It was Spiderman. His own costume pulling him back, away from the dark shape. _

_The dream turned frightening as the two halves started pulling, trapping Peter in a tug-of-war._

_And the red-and-blue Spider simply wasn't strong enough.  
_

_Suddenly there were others there. His Aunt May, Stephen, The Shadow, Sarah, MJ, all of them helping Spiderman pull him away from the long dark. And still they were not strong enough._

_The darkness roared, and started slapping back at his opponents, knocking them down easily. They were all simply put out of existence._

_Alone, Peter howled in horror as the dark shape grew and devoured him whole.

* * *

_

Peter woke up.

For just a second, he thought he was color-blind.

Then, for a second, he thought he was still dreaming. He was still far in the air, hanging from a webline.

Somehow, he had made his way to one of his favorite skyline points. Except he wasn't looking out over the city, he was looking at the glass. The lights were off inside, and Peter got a big eyeful of his face.

He was relieved to see he was masked… except he wasn't wearing his mask.

It looked like Spiderman, but it was jet black. Even the eye lenses were black as night, but Peter had no trouble seeing himself…

Whatever was happening, Peter knew he had to get home. The Police Scanner would still be on, listening for Marko.

**Marko! Find Flint Marko and kill him!**

Was Peter worried about that before? It seemed pretty clear now…

Why should he worry? It's not like anybody would mourn the murderer. And even if they did, nobody would care enough to try and make him pay? And even if they did, it's not like anyone knew Peter was Spiderman. And in any case, what the hell could they do if they tried?

**Get home. Find Flint Marko! Find the murderer and kill him!**

Peter released him webline, and turned in midair. He knew the way, almost without thinking. He'd done it so often…

Still, he'd never pulled on a new costume and gone web-swinging in his sleep before.

Swing over to the hospital, go over the helicopter pad, then swing low down the Times Square main thoroughfare, aim your web at the Bugle to get distance, while still blocking Jameson's office window… He'd made the journey a thousand times, he knew the way home like a roadmap.

Spiderman fired a web…

And went straight over the hospital, damn near overshooting the whole block!

Startled, Spiderman fired another line back over his shoulder. The thick black line caught the edge of a rooftop, and pulled in, putting him back safely on the wall.

_Pulled in?_ Peter asked himself. _Since when are my webs retractable? And since when are they black?_

But despite the sudden curveball, Peter felt no worry. Why should he? What could his own costume possibly do against him?

Trying to get the new feel of his own movement, Spiderman dove forward, swinging his way through Time Square on a single webline. A distance that had always taken a seriously long run up to make it through the open square.

This time, he barely had to reach for it.

Peter grinned. Stephen was going to get a kick out of this.

**NO!**

But then, why bother? Peter had far more important things to do than discuss fashion. Stephen would comment but not question. Stephen had often mocked that the suit would look better in black; but if Spiderman suddenly showed up in dark threads, it's not like Stephen would really care. In fact, if anything, the only problem that Stephen would have with it; would be that he didn't make the costume appear himself.

Stephen always had to have things his way. Even the things that didn't matter.

He never realized how much that annoyed him.

Regardless, this new suit wasn't a simple bit of black cloth. Or even black Spandex. Even if he didn't share what he knew with anyone, he wanted to know what he was wearing.

Peter relaxed suddenly. Of course, it was simply something he wanted, and why shouldn't he have that?

* * *

Fortunately, Curtis Connors still didn't seem to need sleep, any more than he did before turning into a giant Lizard.

Almost an hour after waking up in the middle of the New York skyline, Peter had finally had enough fun with his new toy, and made his way to NYU.

If Peter had any doubts about the nature of the Black Costume, he was certain once he sliced off a tiny piece of the mask, and watched it _melt_.

It melted and then started moving again.

Startled, Peter put it in a Petri dish and clapped a lid over it.

Dr Connors had taken the specimen that Peter had provided and gone right to work on it. But after twenty minutes, he was completely baffled. "I've never seen anything like it."

The small scrap jumped off the Petri dish and scrambled its way toward Peter.

Peter missed it. He knew that it belonged to him. To his suit…

For a reason he couldn't really place, he was suddenly terrified. He picked up a beaker, and set it, upside down, over the moving scrap.

"Seems to like you." Connors commented, just as freaked by what he was looking at. "Listen, I better place a call to the CDC."

"Disease control?" Peter repeated. "What for?"

"We don't know what this thing is, it displays remarkable properties, and it's frankly scaring me a bit, and for all our laboratories, we're not really set up for something like this… It would be best to bring in other people so that-"

"Like we did six months ago you mean? When you suddenly went T-Rex?"

Connors almost swallowed his tongue. "H-How do you know about that?"

"I'm still Spiderman's photographer. And I work for Clyde Marsh at the Classic. You think we haven't been keeping an eye on you?"

Connors looked hard at Peter, then found himself looking down at the girasol ring on his hand. "Marsh had a ring like that too. I think The Shadow did too."

"Who?" Peter asked innocently.

Connors was silent for a long moment, and finally polished the eyepiece of his microscope with his empty sleeve. "Fine. This one stays secret. For now. Just… don't get any of that on you."

"Why not?"

"It's moving like an animal, but it has some of the biological properties of a symbiote. And once these things mesh in nature, it can be hard to un-mesh them."

* * *

Peter knew that Connors wouldn't sell him out. He wouldn't dare.

He also knew that he had never felt better.

Or more angry.

The new costume had been an interesting diversion, but the fact was he had a mission. With the night still deep outside, he returned home, just as the Police Scanner Stephen had left him crackled to life.

"C&C, got a twenty over 18th and Broadway. Another Sandstorm in the vicinity. I don't know what-"

Peter had stopped listening. "Marko."

Peter quickly went to the closet, and reached for his costume…

And stopped.

He already had his costume. He was already wearing his costume. It was a better costume. A proper costume.

Spiderman threw himself out the window.

He almost didn't notice that he'd never actually pulled his mask back on. It was just _there_, again.

As it should be.

* * *

Spiderman reached the bank, and took quick stock. Two men lying on the ground, in front of a shattered bank, no doubt the silent alarm was tripped. Hundred dollar bills fluttered here and there…

And a small trickle of sand was sliding across the pavement down toward the sewer grate.

Spiderman noticed a cab come rushing up. His partner. Irrelevant. He could handle this. He _had_ to handle this.

But the cab was not carrying The Shadow.

It was carrying Edward Brock Jr.

_Seems I'm not the only one with a police scanner._ Peter thought as Brock came sprinting up.

**Irrelevant**. Spiderman didn't even spare Brock a glance as he tore the underground vent straight out of the ground, with not a small amount of concrete moulding coming along with it.

"Whoa! Buddy, love the new suit!" Brock oiled ingratiatingly as he snapped pictures. "Gimmie some of that web action!

Spiderman felt his blood boil.

Fortunately, at that exact moment, a hand reached out of nowhere, and took the camera straight out of Brock's hand.

Eddie spun, and found himself staring into the death stare of The Shadow. "Agh!"

The Shadow calmly threw the camera against the wall where it shattered.

Brock shook off his fear with rage. "HEY! Freedom of the press man!"

"Complain to your congressman." The Shadow hissed back, and followed Spiderman into the Underground.

Brock silently raged against the unfairness. He needed that shot. The press Game was a violently competitive thing. He'd flattered his way into a job where his predecessor had only been gone a day. His seat wouldn't be cold before JJ gave it to someone else.

And he had the shot. It was perfect… he'd got the picture fair and square…

Now he just had to get it back. It wouldn't be wrong really, to restore what he'd already had…

As Sirens came closer, Brock quickly pulled out a smaller digital camera and started taking shots.

* * *

**_"I was right about the daughter. What else does he want Money for?"_** The Shadow whispered. _**"He doesn't need it for himself. Octavius stole money to get machine components. I was looking into the kids history and-"**_

"I don't care." Spiderman hissed. "Stay back on this one."

**_"I've got your back Spider, no matter what. We're partners. You think I'm not gonna hold him down for you?"_**

"And how exactly are you going to do that?" Spiderman hissed back. _Butting in where he wasn't needed or wanted, trying to control things that weren't his concern._

Peter had never realized how much he hated that.

He saw Marko ahead, and forgot all about it. "Game on."

_**"By the way, love the new suit."

* * *

**_

Marko didn't feel right about it, but there was no other way. Penny needed the money.

He had power now. More power than his gun had provided. Cleaner. It was only fatal if he wanted it to be. There were no mistakes likely this time. Not like the last time he tried to get money.

Marko didn't feel right about it. The only two women in the world he cared about would hate that he was stealing again.

He thought of Penny.

The rest was simple.

When suddenly he felt like he was being watched.

He spun.

Nothing but darkness.

* * *

_Stephen was right! _Whooped Peter inside his new mask. _The suit does work much better in black!_

So much so, that the sandbox never notice him go straight overhead, or lower himself on a webline till they were face to face.

"Flint Marko." Spiderman hissed.

"What do you want from me?" Marko demanded.

A sudden burst of maniacal laughter rang out. Marko looked around in fear.

"Remember Ben Parker?" Spiderman growled over the laugh. He had to **know**. The source of death had to know which of the endless lives he had gleefully ended was coming back to seek justice. A evil disgusting thing like this sick killer probably destroyed too many lives to note just _one_, but this one was Spiderman. "The old man you shot down in cold blood!"

Marko tensed. Spiderman grinned savagely. He DID remember! Oh this was going to taste good!

"What's it to you?" Marko demanded.

Spiderman felt something snap in him. The fiend had the nerve to... to actually think it wouldn't **matter?**

"EVERYTHING!" Shrieked Spiderman, and lunged.

A train was coming down the tacks. Spiderman didn't even look before jumping to the other side of the tunnel. How could he care about things like trains when the Killer was right THERE!

Twin gunshots barked, and Marko felt parts of his face get blasted away. He spun, and saw a dark gothic shape, drawn against the tunnel. He expanded a fist and fired it in The Shadow's direction…

When suddenly it exploded, as though a bomb had gone off inside his hand.

Dismayed, Marko tried again, when there was a sudden shrieking in his head. His sandy form collapsed instantly. He pulled it back together, but it didn't hold long. Marko tried to keep himself back into shape, but it was no good. Whatever the hell this new attack was, it was keeping his mind jumbled.

Marko fought back, summoning sand that was not from his body.

In fact, it was under The Shadow's feet.

The Shadow dropped as his feet were pulled out from under him, and Marko raised himself quickly, reaching for the money again.

Without thought, Spiderman fired weblines into the train, and released his grip on the wall. With the speed of the freight train that towed him, he went feet first into Marko, and the two of them went ricocheting down the tunnel.

About twenty feet later, and the tunnel transformed into the bridge. Marko fell hard, felt metal slam into his back and felt the bags of money drop.

He looked around. The fight had made it's way to a subway intersection. There were about six tracks, going both ways, at various levels of the underground chamber, tunnels leading in every direction, and the sewers for drainage far below.

The black spider came flashing over to give him another kick...

Bench wasn't about to take that twice, and raised a foot which turned to sand and exploded outward toward his foe, a good six feet short of his target.

Spiderman almost folded double around the sandy limb, when another expanded fist met him in the face and sent him sprawling back over a set of train tracks...

With a train bearing down on him.

Reacting fast, Spiderman rolled backwards off the tracks, toward the lower levels.

A quick webline to turn him over, and flip him back upward, a quick twist to avoid the crossbeam...

In his old suit it would have taken a good twenty seconds to get his bearings and go back up.

This time it took him less than five.

While Spiderman fought for altitude, The Shadow caught up with the combatants, firing steadily.

Marko threw back huge sandy punches, which exploded under The Shadow's telekinetic glare, one by one, till at last the guns clicked empty.

Marko managed to put a fist forward just enough to catch the Shadow on the chin, and The Shadow was knocked into the side of a passing train, the impact spinning him brutally, till he hit the floor, unconscious.

But Marko was taken by surprise too, as Spiderman hit him from behind and sent him into the same train.

Spiderman grabbed a reeling Marko by the shoulders and hammered him into the side of the moving train. Marko's face was sanded away.

_Yes! _Spiderman thought joyfully. _Scatter the cretin to the wind!_

More than half his head was gone by the time that the train had gone past, and Marko was forced to his knees.

Spiderman didn't let him go, even as the sand expanded to refill his original shape. "It's Time to PAY Marko!"

Marko managed to gather himself and expand a fist to cinderblock size, and punt Spiderman up against the other speeding wall of train at the other track. He was spun by the blow and bounced into another train going the opposite direction.

Spiderman wasn't hurt, the train wall crumpled.

_This isn't just personal, it's wonderful. It's perfection! Oh, to think I never played in the sandbox as a kid!_

Marko took advantage of the spin and sent another cinder punch into Spiderman, who barely bothered to move with the blow before spinning back to counter-punch. The blows were intense, far more than Spiderman was used to throwing, far more than Sandman was used to feeling, and both of them went flying off the latest bridge, toward the bottom of the chamber, trading blows as they fell.

Spiderman felt the power singing through his veins and, oh it was so _beautiful_!

His black fist going through Marko's sandy face... Poetry!

Hearing the family destroyer grunting in pain... Music!

Punch! _I'm not Spiderman any more Marko!_

Kick! _I'm the right hand of vengeance!_

Punch! _I am Uncle Ben's soul howling for your annihilation from beyond the grave!_

Kick! _I am Grim Death Incarnate!_

Punch! _I'm the last living thing you are ever going to see!_

Until finally, the two of them hit bottom, slamming into the sewer level ground.

Spiderman landed on the edge of a giant pipe, ready for more, but Marko...

Marko had landed face down in a puddle, and he wasn't getting up.

He raised a sandy hand, and Spiderman watched as it dripped away, one finger at a time.

_The water!_ Spiderman laughed eagerly. _Uncle Ben's death monger, and he's scared of the rain!_

Marko's eyes were wide and suddenly worried, and he raised them beseechingly at the masked man.

Spiderman, barely able to contain his glee enjoyed every moment. Look! The murderous Ox was scared.

**Flush him.**

_Yes! _Spiderman agreed. _Nothing more appropriate for a piece of..._

Spiderman sank his fingers into the steel pipe, and pulled.

Ping! A rivet popped from the pressure of Spiderman's muscle.

Ping! Spiderman grinned. He never had this kind of power before.

Ping! He _liked _it!

Ping! Marko's jaw dropped. He wouldn't! He couldn't!

Ping! Marko's eyes bulged. He would. He could.

With a roar, the pipe burst completely, and a hurricane of water came screaming from the Spider's perch, and picked up the Sandman, slamming him hard into the iron grate behind him.

Marko raised his hands helplessly to try and hold back the inevitable, but that made it all the sweeter. Spiderman could enjoy the show.

Spiderman could feel his head pounding. _Die you wretched cat-box. Feel the fear and wash away you sub-human scum. Suffer and die_. He was breathing hard from the intensity of the moment. _All you deserve, all you deserve. Needs to die. You murderer. Degenerate. Deranged. Depraved. Animal. Killer. Parasite. Monster. Bastard. Evil. Hate you. Hate you. Die. DiediediedieDIE! _

And after a long moment, the Sandman was washed down the drain completely.

"Good riddance." Spiderman snarled.

* * *

He caught a glimpse of his face as he made his way back to the street.

He couldn't stop replaying the moment. Over and over. Marko was dead. Dead. No longer living. No longer a blight on the landscape. No longer in existence. No longer a worthless source of nothing but pain and death and loss. Spiderman had killed evil.

His head was pounding like it was about to split down the middle. He was breathing hard, like his new suit was squeezing his chest very tight. He couldn't quite force his face to relax. It was like concrete had been poured over his face. His brow was in a permanent furrow and he could feel the blood pounding into his neck with pneumatic force. He read once that there were four bones in the human ear. He believed it. He could count them. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't relax his face, he couldn't get out of this savage attack pose, he couldn't open his fists, he couldn't think about anything except killing Marko over and over again.

Damn, he felt good.

His hair was dark, and the bags under his eyes were stronger, but his eyes themselves were glowing with dangerous light. His face was drawn and thin, his skin was pale to the point of translucent. His face was full of angular edges and hate. Pure hate. Clean hate. Forceful hate. It was clean and calm and it wasn't going away. If Stephen had been there, he would have taken a step back in fear.

Stephen.

It wasn't as though Peter had _forgotten_ his partner exactly, he just had more important things to worry about. But now that Marko was dead, Peter could go back for his partner.

* * *

As it happened, he needn't have worried. The Shadow was notoriously hard to kill. He was already sitting up by the time Peter got back to him. _**"Hey."**_ He croaked, noting that his partner was out of uniform.

"Hey." Peter answered, helping his partner stand. "You still got your teeth?"

"_**Think so. Most of them are fake anyway."**_

"Really?"

"Too many broken teeth in this job." The Shadow groused, pulling off his hat. _**"Okay. Mental attacks and telekinetic blasts work, but not as a permanent thing."**_

"Marko's dead."

The Shadow paused, mid-change. _**"Dead?"**_ He repeated. _**"You're sure?"**_

"I flushed him." Peter said deliciously.

The Shadow shrugged off his cloak, and a bruised and battered Stephen Cranston limped over. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Telling Stephen was a good first step. He needed a rehearsal before the main event: Sharing the news with Aunt May.

Secrets had to be kept, so the story had to be… adapted. For the most part it was a matter of simple pro-noun change.

But when the latter elements of the story came, he had to physically hold himself in his chair to keep from bouncing around with the sheer giddy thrill of it, reliving the moment again.

And more than that, sharing the moment with Aunt May. He'd been unable to provide any comfort for so many years. Uncle Ben meant as much to her as he did to Peter, maybe more. And now at last, Peter was able to give her something that would heal the awful wound that his loss had left in her life.

Except she wasn't smiling.

"I don't…" She stuttered a little. "I don't understand. Spiderman doesn't kill people."

Peter blinked, like waking up from a dream.

"What happened?"

"I…I uh…" Peter stammered, suddenly "I thought that you'd feel… he deserved it didn't he?"

"I don't think it's for us to say, who deserves to live or die." May said gently, as forgiving as ever.

Peter was lost again. Dammit he did this for her! To set their little family at rest. How could she not be glad to see the monster gone? "Aunt May, he killed Uncle Ben!" Peter snapped, angrier than he intended to.

"Uncle Ben meant the world to us." May said honestly. "He wouldn't want us living one second with revenge in our hearts. Hate is like a poison. It'll eat you up from the inside. It can take you over. Turn you into something ugly."

_Like a killer yourself._ Peter thought numbly.

_DAMMIT!_ Peter's thoughts turned explosive. _Two seconds ago everything made sense!

* * *

_

Chloe looked up as Stephen came in to work at Cranston Industries, early for a change, but his face looked a little beat up, and he was limping a little. "Hope you won."

Stephen ran a quick finger over his newest cuts. Make up and Tumo summoning had done their work, but even if the bruises could be painted over, there were a few wounds that hadn't healed fully yet. "I've had worse."

"Bar fight?" Chloe asked.

"Do I seem like I've been drinking?"

"Fight Club then?"

"I don't like to talk about Fight Club." Stephen deadpanned.

"Rule number one." Chloe agreed.

* * *

Peter came to Stephen's office in turmoil. His Aunt May had never steered him wrong before. She wouldn't be wrong about this. For sure she wouldn't be wrong about Uncle Ben. Six words alone from that man had set him on this god-forsaken path… Surely he'd be pleased? Or at least at rest, to know that his killer was dead…

"How'd the proposal go with Red?" Chloe was saying through the door.

Peter froze. Chloe knew about that?

"For the last time, I did not propose to Mary Jane Watson." Stephen protested.

"The ditz then?" Chloe teased. "Or the blonde?"

"The ring was a favor for a friend." Stephen said calmly. "And they have names."

"Sure, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday."

Stephen sighed. "I never should have told you about the ring."

"You didn't. I found you hiding it in your safe when the redhead showed up, you send me out to stall her, and two minutes later I walk in and catch you with her arms around you…"

"I told you, I accidentally stepped on her toe. Speaking of that, I'm planning on having a doorbell installed in my office door."

"Her boyfriend know how often you two have been stepping on each other's toes?"

"Knock it off will ya?" Stephen complained. "Where am I supposed to be right now?"

Peter quietly slipped away from the door to Stephen's office and calmly went downstairs to the cantina, so that he could find a paper bag to breathe into.

* * *

Riker's was the worst bar in Hell's Kitchen. The worst tavern since Star Wars had patented the phrase 'wretched hive of scum and villainy.'

It matched Peter's mood perfectly.

_Spiderman doesn't kill people._

Aunt May's voice echoed endlessly around and around in his head. it was true. Spiderman did not kill. It was fixed. So why had it never occurred to him during the fight with Marko?

Shocker was in Jail, Hydroman was permanently imprisoned in Stephen's garden, Green Goblin was presumed dead, Dr octopus, also dead, Harry Osborn's inner-goblin locked away behind telepathic enforced amnesia, and none of them by Peter's own hand, at least not directly...

So why hadn't he noticed the change when he cold-bloodedly sent Sandman down the drain?

It simply hadn't entered his mind to try and capture him, not that he could have thought of a way to do it anyway...

But still...

Marko killed Uncle Ben. He deserved to die. End of story.

And yet... hadn't Green Goblin been a killer too?

But...

**Marko killed your Uncle Ben. He. Deserved. To. Die. End of Story.**

Whoa. Peter thought. Where the hell did that come from?

Three or four bikers had come in, and were having fun getting drunk, despite the early hour.

One of them came up to the bar where Peter was having a drink.

Peter ignored him. He was consumed by more interesting problems at the moment.

_Her boyfriend know how often you two have been stepping on each other's toes?_

Chloe's voice had stuck in his head too. MJ had been slipping off more often lately, but Stephen had been training her in various parts of the Network's operation. Peter had been the loudest voice in favor of it. It stopped MJ from complaining that her boyfriend was keeping her out of his mission, while at the same time keeping her off the front lines.

That was all. It had to be all.

But she was lying to him. She had been with increasing frequency since the memory wipe.

The memory wipe when she'd thought that she and Stephen were lovers.

Peter shook his head hard. That couldn't possibly be true? Stephen and MJ? They'd just barely declared each other friends.

"Hey buddy." The biker said, easily four times Peter's size. "I guess you're new here. There's a certain order of things in this bar. For instance, you're in my spot."

Peter ignored him.

"I'm not kidding pal, you're in my seat. Beat it. Or else."

Peter shook him off. He had more important concerns.

That had to be it. MJ was working with Stephen secretly but professionally, and Chloe had just jumped to a conclusion, just like with the ring.

The ring that was still in his pocket.

It was supposed to be on her hand. But she'd gotten suspicious of him and Gwen. How could she doubt him? Peter and MJ. It was a given. It was like bacon and eggs, bread and butter. It was meant to be. Just because she'd left him for a simpler option once before while he was busy…

…and just because he'd been busy lately…

…with Marko…

…and Gwen…

…and Harry…

…Harry whom had been under Stephen's microscope, Harry who had forgotten that he wasn't in love with MJ any more, Harry who had been spending time with his old friends Peter and MJ…

…albeit not at the same time…

Peter rubbed his forehead hard. This was getting confusing. It was getting chaotic again.

The Biker had summoned over a friend of his. Peter was aware of their movements, almost as if he was staring at them. But his spider-sense wasn't tingling. Why should it? They weren't a threat. Not even a risk. Barely noticeable.

A large meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder. "I warned you."

The confusion in Peter's life vanished. The chaos in his head went with it. The pressure vanished. Everything got real simple again.

Peter knew he wasn't masked. He wasn't really sure why that mattered, but it at least would make this fun. Like fighting with the Y-Axis behind his back.

Feet firmly on the floor, Peter stood up, and clamped a grip around the large meaty wrist.

He squeezed.

The biker screamed.

* * *

Stephen's intercom buzzed. Stephen hit it without looking. "What?"

"That girl that you're not seeing is on line one."

"Which one?"

"Broadway's latest victim."

Stephen lifted the phone line. "MJ?"

"Is Peter with you?"

"No."

"Good." She sighed. "I just got a new job."

"Musical or non-musical?"

"The Jazz Club."

"Good, I told you that your voice was more of a small room, zoot suits, low dusky lights, soft jazz, and smoke wafting…"

"Stephen."

"Sorry, I drifted."

"You were two words away from 'Dick Tracy'" MJ told him, and sighed miserably. "How do I tell him?"

"Tell him?"

"That I lost Broadway."

"You haven't told him yet?"

"Just you and Sarah. And Harry. And Moe. And Chloe. And My Aunt Anna. And my mom."

"But not the love of your life?"

"I _can't_. He puts me on such a pedestal! He goes and buys a seat at the Constellation, he goes into a twenty minute speech about how I shouldn't be modest, like I've already got an Oscar…"

"The longer you put it off, the harder it is."

MJ sighed. "You're right."

"Good luck."

* * *

MJ disconnected and studied her phone long and hard. All she had to do was call Peter, and come clean. Call Peter, tell him that she'd been fired from the show… All she had to do was tell him the truth, and Peter would be disappointed. They'd make each other feel better, and all would be well.

All she had to do was tell him that his perfect Broadway Leading Lady was a washout.

She scrolled through the phone list. She dialed. "It's me."

Harry seemed thrilled to hear from her. "MJ!"

MJ smiled. "I need some company. Can I come see you?"

"Absolutely, I'd love to see you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm not doing anything."

* * *

_Realized I can never win  
Sometimes I feel like I have failed  
Inside where do I begin?  
My mind is laughing at me  
Tell me why am I to blame?  
Aren't we suppose to be the same?  
That's why I will never tame  
This thing that's burning in me  
_

The jukebox was wired into a sound system loud enough to be heard over the usual noise of the patrons and their motorcycles. The music was playing a savage death-metal beat which answered the roaring in Peter's own ears as he tore the place apart.

_I am the one who chose my path  
I am the one who couldn't last  
I feel the life pulled from me  
I feel the anger changing me  
_

Peter's spider-sense assured him that there were no surveillance devices in the bar. Rikers was the sort of place where a fight broke out every night.

And every day.

There were sixteen men in the bar, all of them tough enough to become regulars in this place, and Peter knew that nobody would believe they started it.

_Sometimes I can never tell  
If I've got something after me  
That's why I just beg and plead  
For this curse to leave me  
Tell me why am I to blame  
Aren't we suppose to be the same  
That's why I will never tame  
This thing that's burning in me  
_

Having to stay on the floor was a mild amusement, but it hardly mattered. He was calmly bouncing the fifth guy off the floor, with half a dozen people trying to pull them off each other.

_I am the one who chose my path  
I am the one who couldn't last  
I feel the life pulled from me  
I feel the anger changing me_

Peter listened to the song with half an ear. He never really liked that sort of music before, but this song he knew. It was like somebody had written it especially for Stephen.

_Oh god the anger's changing me!_

_Oh god the anger's changing me!_

_Oh god the anger's changing me!

* * *

_

_AN: So sorry for how long this chapter took. RL brings us Time and Tribulation that cannot be avoided or swept aside in favor of more enjoyable pursuits. The best way to make the next chapter arrive faster is to give lots of reviews! ;-)  
_


	9. The More Things Change

The Darkness Within

A Shadow/Spider-Man Crossover Novella by Stephensmat and Scarlet

Chapter Nine: The More Things Change

_The Story So Far: Peter finds out that Flint Marko…the Sandman…may be Uncle Ben's real killer. Peter loses his cool at Detective Joe Cardona, then gives into the powerful anger inside as Stephen instructs him to remember this feeling of "Vendetta". The alien life force that caused the shuttle crash finally gives into its own needs and seizes Peter's angry energy…and turns Spider-Man's costume an inky black, much to The Shadow's pleasure, which reminds Peter of how much he really resents Stephen's domineering nature. As Dr. Connors gets to work on finding out about the life form-brought to him by Peter, concerned about why this symbiotic being seems to have such an attachment to Peter himself-the partners track Sandman to the subways after a bank robbery-and after The Shadow destroys the camera Eddie Brock used to photograph the black-suited Spider-Man-and Peter takes his revenge on Marko, washing him away in the sewers under the subway. But after Aunt May challenges the notion that Spider-Man should have killed Marko, Peter is confused and conflicted. As he arrives at Stephen's office to talk to the Master of Darkness, he overhears Chloe's usual taunts about Stephen's harem that include pointed questions about Stephen and MJ together…and then he begins to realize that Mary Jane has been spending far more time with men who aren't Peter himself...especially Harry Osborn…

* * *

_

MJ hadn't been to the Osborn house for a while. Harry had kept her away from Stormin' Norman as much as possible, especially while he had his own place.

But when the elevator opened from the lobby, Harry was right there, smiling an unaffected smile, happy to see her. "Hi," She said quietly, fighting a sudden blast of nerves.

"Hi," He smiled the old smile from years before.

MJ shivered, reminding herself that he was the enemy. She was calling him because Stephen had told her to be close to him, like she'd used to be. So that she could watch for any sign that Goblin was coming back. She wasn't his friend, she was his watcher. That was the rule.

But in the weeks since he'd come out of hospital, nothing had happened. Nothing at all to indicate that Harry was still an enemy. In fact he was lighter, he was easy-going, he was fun…

Just like things had used to be, before his father died, and Spider-Man had been his enemy.

MJ didn't like to think about the fact that Stephen had effectively given him a telepathic lobotomy. The fact that he could do it to Harry meant that he could do it to any of them. MJ had her memory erased in this manner once before, and it had brought her closer to Stephen in ways that still made the hairs on her arms stand up.

She reminded herself that the only change made to Harry was the removal of a misguided blood feud. The man that stood before her was the man that Harry would have been if The Green Goblin had no hold over the family line. The man that stood before her was the man that Harry would have been had his father not tried to kill them both.

The one that she had fallen in love with. Before his father's death had changed everything.

That thought made her feel guilty again, especially given that his father had died in combat with her current boyfriend.

She had been cast aside by the man Harry had become, even while she still loved the man that stood before her now.

MJ shivered. She put on a big smile, and held up the grocery bag. "I brought food."

"We have food."

"But I brought food that isn't frozen."

Harry grinned, recognizing the jibe for what it was. Back when they were dating, Harry and Peter were two bachelors, living together in a large loft space. MJ didn't understand until much later why Peter was out so much, leaving her and Harry together alone a good long while.

* * *

Stephen Cranston was trying to concentrate on the budget proposal for a joint venture with Stark Industries that his Director of Acquisitions, Sam Bailey, was giving him, but he couldn't. For some reason, Stephen kept hearing a dragon's roar in the sound of Bailey's laptop's fan.

Stephen knew, of course, that there wasn't a dragon anywhere around. But what was around was evil. Pure evil. Of course, being in Manhattan on a business day was usually a key indicator that there really _was_ evil around him, but that wasn't what Stephen was reacting to.

Something was wrong. And it wasn't in Bailey's presentation. "Turn it off," Stephen ordered.

Bailey looked at him. "Ste…" Then, he caught himself. This was not the time to be familiar with Stephen, even if Bailey had known Stephen since the day Bailey's former boss Victor Cranston had become Stephen's legal guardian. "Mr. Cranston, Mr. Stark's team is waiting for our answer on this."

"Obadiah Stane is waiting for _my_ answer on this," Stephen corrected sharply.

Bailey drew back. Stephen wasn't bored, he was right on top of this and probably knew the entire proposal better than even Bailey himself did. Which meant…what, exactly?

"And Stane can wait another day. And another one. And as many days as _I_ want him to wait." He turned to Bailey. "It's a good proposal. But it benefits Stark Industries more than it does us. And I want to know why Stane is so anxious to get us on board."

Bailey looked at his laptop. "I'll rerun the numbers and see if we can get a better split on the…"

"I don't care about the split. I care about Stane's motive. Get me _that_ information, and maybe _then_ I'll be ready to give him my answer."

The last time somebody took that tone with him, Sam Bailey had rushed out of Victor Cranston's office to avoid losing his job along with the government contract Bailey's team was blowing. Bailey got the distinct impression that Stephen was going to be even less patient than Victor was. After Victor's blow-up, Bailey moved up three places on the totem pole, because Victor fired three people over Bailey who'd screwed up. And right now, Bailey wasn't sure who Stephen Cranston was going to fire if he didn't get answers. "Yes, sir."

Stephen didn't even acknowledge Bailey as the man scurried out of the room. Which was just as well, as it was all a pretext to get Bailey to leave him the Hell alone.

Or, at least, most of it was pretext.

Stephen tapped his intercom button. "Chloe, cancel the rest of today's appointments."

"Standard Scary Voice rules?" Chloe Bryant's sarcastic tone responded.

"Expedited rules. I'm going out." With that, Stephen killed the intercom, grabbed his suitcoat, and was already past Chloe's desk before she could ask him anything more.

* * *

MJ lived alone in the city too, and took it upon herself to teach Harry to cook. It was either that or restaurants that only an Osborn-or a Cranston-could afford, making her feel somewhat self-conscious. Their first few months together were spent over home-made dinners, which had gotten progressively better.

The kitchen had been upgraded significantly from the loft space that Harry had used to share, but the old rhythm came back easily.

Anyone who didn't know would have witnessed a heartwarming domestic scene. MJ chopping, Harry stirring over the pan, sending gentle teases back at each other.

MJ smiled and chopped the peppers. It had become something of a game between them then, figuring out what would taste good and what would taste bad. MJ had once told Harry that an omelette was easy to make, and could have lots of different added ingredients. For two dates afterward, they had spent lots of time throwing in the most ridiculous combinations, omelette after omelette.

It had been a good icebreaker for the newly dating couple. While they worked on a common purpose in the kitchen they spent their time talking about books, movies, music.

Music had been a good topic. Harry's childhood chef has played Italian opera loud enough to rattle the windows when cooking. MJ had heard that story and agreed that most everything was improved with good music, and the radio had always been included in the kitchen afterward.

"This is the way a kitchen should be," MJ declared as Harry stirred. "With the man over the stove."

"And the woman doing the twist," Harry shot back, turning up the volume.

MJ chuckled good-naturedly and started dancing along with the doo-wop tune. "C'mon baby, let's do the twist," she sang along, and Harry started moving too, caught up in the moment.

"C'mon like this," MJ sang along, holding out a hand to him. "And do the twist."

Harry chuckled, feeling like a little kid, but playing along, dancing with her.

MJ laughed, feeling the years melt away. This was how it had been, before Norman, before Goblin, before Spider-Man, before The Shadow. Before secret societies, sand super villain attacks, and brutal critics and losing jobs…

"O.K., ready for this?" Harry enthused, and picked up the pan, ready to flip.

MJ squeaked and stepped back.

Harry flipped the omelette…

And it came down on the edge of the pan, half of it going splat.

Beat of silence as the music came to a dramatic end, almost on cue.

"Well we can use that part," MJ offered, pointing at the pan.

Harry chuckled and reached under the sink for a dustpan.

MJ knelt down with him, helping collect the mess, leaning a hand on Harry as she bent down, then stood up. Harry scrapped the rest of it as MJ turned on the tap at the sink and washed her hands. Harry came over and did the same with her.

"Just like old times," MJ commented.

"Best times," Harry agreed. "I still have to remind myself they're long gone."

Harry and MJ looked at each other. Almost in perfect unison they realized that they were hip to hip at the sink, hands brushing each other as they washed up…it was almost a little too much like old times..

Harry leaned back first. "Peter's my best friend."

"Mine too," MJ agreed, feeling awkward.

"Is…is everything going O.K. with you two?"

MJ felt gut checked. _Well, except for the fact that we've broken up, gotten back together, been attacked by supervillians…plus a memory wipe, plus him suddenly attacking me then turning into a seven foot spider, and then nearly dying because of giant robots, plus a funeral or two, and another woman…other men…and then you…_

"Things have been a little tough," she admitted. "With our jobs and all."

"How'd Peter take it when you told him about Broadway?"

"I haven't yet," MJ admitted.

"He'll still think you're perfect," Harry promised.

MJ laughed. "Forgot for a second how well you know me."

"MJ, if you took Peter out for dinner, and the first thing you did was set him on fire, he would apologize to you for having been so flammable!" Harry told her.

MJ burst out laughing.

"And as for Broadway, well…maybe between me and Stephen Cranston, we can buy a theater and make you a star anyway!"

"We've already got a play," MJ agreed.

"We do?"

"You wrote me one, remember?"

Harry grinned. "Oh, right. Wonder if I still have it?"

* * *

"_**So, what is this about?**_" Stephen asked the young boy seated on The Sanctum's chaise lounge.

"_**You tell me,**_" The Marpa Tulku, dressed in his usual undercover garb, a dark-clad goth teen. "_**I came as soon as I could. You look disturbed, even more disturbed than you sounded on the phone…**_"

"_**There's an evil I can't place,**_" Stephen interrupted. "_**A darkness. A dragon.**_"

The Tulku took that in. "_**And not **__**your**__** dragon, I take it.**_"

Stephen shook his head.

"_**Not Khan.**_"

Another head shake in response.

"_**Peter killed a man deliberately.**_"

Stephen almost laughed, and not pleasantly. "_**Let me know when you're finished looking through my brain so we can advance this conversation.**_"

"_**You encouraged Peter to feel the force of Vendetta, and now you wonder if that was wise.**_"

"_**Thank you, Lama Exposition,**_" Stephen's mind snapped. "_**That part I already knew.**_"

"_**Spiders are apex predators in the insect kingdom.**_"

"_**Again, thanks for telling me what I already know.**_"

"_**You already know what this darkness is, Stephen. This evil. This dragon.**_"

"_**See, that's where you're wrong.**_" Stephen looked at the thousand-year-old psychic master. "_**It's not Peter. It's his frustration over this entire situation. Peter is the good guy. But…**_"

"_**…he lets his emotions get the best of him.**_"

"_**Always has.**_"

The Tulku nodded. "_**The more things change…**_"

"_**What's that supposed to mean?**_" Stephen cut him off.

"_**Peter tends to take blame for things that are not his doing, because of his guilt over his past actions. You tend to take credit for things that are not your doing, because of your need to control everything. This has always been part of your dynamic.**_" The Tulku met Stephen's intense gaze. "_**But the dynamic changed when Peter embraced the power you told him to embrace. And now you feel guilt over your actions. At the heart of every inner conflict your family has ever dealt with is the dynamic shift when you realize that your need to control everything leads to actions that give you intense feelings of guilt upon reflection.**_"

"_**O.K., fine, I feel guilty. Now, what do I do?**_"

The Tulku looked at him. "_**You control yourself. And control the things you **__**can**__** control. And stop trying to control Peter…**_"

Stephen nodded, beaten. "_**…and his dragon. Got it.**_"

The Tulku now looked angry. "_**No, you have not gotten it. You **__**will**__** have to fight this dragon. But it is not **__**Peter's**__** dragon.**_"

"_**You said it wasn't **__**mine**__**, either,**_" Stephen reminded him.

"_**You need to practice more self-control,**_" The Tulku said sharply. "_**If you cannot distinguish between the things you **__**can**__** control and the things you **__**should**__** control, then you will not be able to distinguish between the things you **__**can**__** fight and the things you **__**should**__**.**_" The Tulku calmed himself and looked into his pupil's eyes. "_**You are so much like your grandfather. He was so determined not to ever give into his dark heart again that he nearly drove himself mad in the process. You are so determined not to give into your own darkness-your own dragon-that you are rushing headlong into a darkness you do not understand. You **__**will**__** have to fight this dragon. But not yet. You must be able to distinguish between the things you **__**can**__** control…and the things you **__**should**__**.**_"

Stephen looked at his master, a mix of frustration and anger in his eyes. "_**You are going to die. Soon. Sooner than you are supposed to. Your Dharma heir is still in training. I can't control that, either, but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't try to prepare for how out-of-control things are about to get once that happens.**_"

The Tulku nodded. "_**Point taken.**_"

Stephen gave a wry smile, and sent a look around the room. The Shadow's Sanctum. His headquarters. His home. Where Stephen Cranston's Manor and Penthouse were largely covers for his day face, this hidden room was the extension of his mind. He had been away from it for so long, The Shadow forced to fit around his secret identity far more than usual in the wake of Victor's death. Stephen hadn't realized how much he missed it. All the tools of his trade were there. He leaned back into his chair and let the dim shadows of the room cover him, forgetting for a moment where he began and the Shadow's ended. He took a moment to enjoy it, and then looked at his teacher. "_**Thank you for coming.**_"

The Tulku smiled. "_**You are welcome. But I could hardly have refused to come. I too need to learn. When something is this out of control in your mind, I need to pay close attention.**_"

Teacher and pupil gave a bow to each other, and then Stephen led the way out.

* * *

True to his word, Harry had in fact dug out the script. They were both going through it. And MJ had to admit, it was pretty good.

"Nothing like a little self-deception to get you through the night?" MJ quoted from the script, and both of them laughed in self-deprecation. "When did you write that?"

"Twelfth Grade," Harry admitted.

"Intense," MJ described it.

"So, you want the part?" Harry teased.

"Oh, please, sir, may I?" MJ responded, in a faux-hopeful voice.

"It's yours," Harry told her.

The two of them smiled for a second, feeling mellow, enjoying the moment.

Harry leaned forward toward her, as though to tell her a secret.

MJ leaned in, curious to hear what it was.

Harry took it as encouragement, and kissed her with great feeling. In his mind, he had only just broken up with her, had only just lost his father, and realized how much he missed her. Where the last time he had a vendetta to fill his every waking thought, now he had none. And he wondered how he could ever have let her go…

He poured all this emotion into the kiss and MJ froze, feeling her hair straighten out suddenly in every direction. Stephen had told her to do this. No, not to do this, but to lead Harry in this direction….

Except…

This was the Harry that she had fallen in love with.

She tried to pull back. Harry put a hand to the back of her head and pulled her in tighter.

_No!_ Something in MJ's mind screamed. _Even The Shadow can't order me this far._

Harry suddenly remembered himself and broke the kiss dramatically. "Oh, God, MJ, I'm sorry."

"'s O.K.," MJ answered desperately. "It's O.K."

"I just… I forgot for a second that it was… that we were…"

"I know, it's O.K. I'm sorry!" MJ whispered.

"I hate to play the amnesia card…," Harry offered, trying to make a joke of it.

"Don't worry about it," MJ said awkwardly.

The whole evening had changed. It was a disaster and they both knew it.

Harry hung his head. "We had some good times, didn't we?"

"Best times," MJ whispered as she jumped to her feet, running for the door.

Harry took off after her. "MJ! Don't go!"

MJ was already to the elevator, tears streaming down her face.

Harry watched the doors close on MJ's face, feeling gutted. Gone, all of it gone! Ruined! He'd ruined everything!

He went to the kitchen, and slowly put away the pans and cutlery.

For the first time since waking up, he went to the wetbar and took a drink, straight from the crystal decanter.

He went to the window, looking down, as though she might still be there. Finally, he pulled out his cell phone, and dialed MJ's new number. Her new number! Years had passed, MJ had moved, MJ had moved on. What had he done?

She wasn't home yet, but her answering machine picked up. "Hey, it's MJ. Sing your song at the beep."

"MJ, do you know how I met Peter?" Harry said quietly into the phone. "Back in school, I was trying to bribe the school brain-box into doing my homework. I offered him up to $300. You know what Peter did? He came over to the house, he sat down with the homework, and he talked me through every question, every problem, until I answered them all myself. He did it free of charge. Then the next day's homework, and he did it all again. I owe that man a lot." He licked his lips. "I love you, MJ, but you and Peter together and the only real friends I've got. MJ, I'm sorry. Please come back?"

Harry disconnected, hoping it would be enough.

_Will you listen to yourself?_

Harry spun. There was nothing there.

_You've let them turn you into such a mewling baby. You're soft. A disgrace to the name. You're weak Harry. Where you were weak before, I made you strong, and you let them take that strength away._

"That's not true!" Harry yelled. "They're my friends! They love me!"

_And I'm your father. I love you Harry. Even in death am I here. Your friend, the one who killed me. Where is he? And where is __she__? Your friend, the one who abandoned you for my murderer, where is she?_

"She… she just left."

_She ran out, spurning your love while you ran after her, begging her forgiveness. Forgiveness of the crime of feeling the way you do. You're an Osborn, Harry, the last of our kin. The only man left to bear our name, and you're begging the ones that orphaned you for help._

"I… I…"

_Help is here, Harry, in your father, in you. In me._

Harry dropped to his knees as the memory flooded back in full.

_What have you done! Spider-Man will pay. I swear by my father's death. If you knew who he was would you tell me? Bring me Spider-Man alive! Spider-Man will pay._

_AVENGE ME!_

_I swear it. I swear by my father' death._

_AVENGE ME!_

Harry came to his feet. "Father!" He cried out.

_Son._

Harry spun, running through the house.

He came to the room behind the staircase, feeling the wrath of a thousand eyes beating down on him.

He passed them instantly, running even past the portrait of his father.

He froze.

_His father lay dead on the lounge, with a battered Spider-Man standing over him._

"You've taken your eye off the ball."

Harry spun.

His father stood in the mirror, imperious and irrefutable.

"Remember me?"

"Yes father." Harry bowed before the mirror. "I remember."

"I was right about her, about Peter…"

"About everything." Harry affirmed in supplication.

"You know what you must do now."

"Take it all back. Get back everything they stole from us."

"That's right my son. And I taught you how." Norman patiently taught his wayward son. "Make him suffer. Make him wish he was dead, and then grant his wish."

Harry raised his eyes to meet his father's gaze. Together they spoke in powerful unison. "First We Attack His Heart!"

* * *

_AN: Hope you enjoyed it. Read and Review!_


	10. Plans Gone Awry

**The Darkness Within**

A Shadow/Spider-Man Crossover Novella by Stephensmat and Scarlet

**Chapter Ten:** Plans Gone Awry

_The Story So Far: With Sandman dead, Stephen begins questioning the wisdom of urging Peter to embrace the feelings of Vendetta, and a consultation with The Marpa Tulku on the true nature of the dark evil Stephen can now feel but cannot place leaves him further confused and conflicted. Still upset at Peter's disregard for her feelings from the Spidey Day festival, Mary Jane Watson throws herself into the mission of watching Harry Osborn for signs that The Shadow's mind wipe to block out the Goblin's own vendetta may be failing, only to realize she is unfairly manipulating Harry's former feelings for her…as well as uncomfortably reviving her own unresolved issues with him. As MJ flees the discomfort, Harry's memories of his father's demise at the hands of Spider-Man's suddenly return, and his descent into madness returns full force as well…

* * *

_

Stephen Cranston had just bid farewell to The Tulku at Grand Central and was on his way back to Cranston Manor when his cell phone rang. He grumbled when he saw it was Chloe calling him. "I'm fairly sure I told you to cancel _all_ of my appointments for the rest of the day," he warned the caller upon answering, "so there'd better be…"

"Tony Stark's missing," Chloe cut him off. "And may be dead."

And with that, Stephen's entire anger rant stopped in its tracks. "What?"

"Bailey just called. He was on a conference call with Stark's people when he overheard somebody telling Obadiah Stane something in the background right about the time the first rumors started flying on the net about a major roadside ambush in Afghanistan and that Tony Stark was in that convoy. Bailey says he's already put a call into his own contacts at DoD trying to get a confirmation on the story …"

Stephen glanced out the window of his cab at the news tickers in Times Square. "DoD just confirmed it," he updated his secretary.

He barely heard Chloe gasp as he tried to digest the headline himself:

"BREAKING: STARK INDUSTRIES CEO TONY STARK, MILITARY CONVOY, AMBUSHED IN AFGHANISTAN…SEVEN U.S. SOLDIERS DEAD…STARK'S WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN…"

For some strange reason, his overactive psyche kept replaying his earlier conversation with Sam Bailey as audio while the words streamed by. The strange combination of audio and visual cues made him wonder if it was mere coincidence that Obadiah Stane seemed to be so eager to get their joint venture with Cranston Industries started.

Then he wondered if he was simply getting paranoid about way too much lately.

Then he reminded himself that it was his job to be this paranoid and that, in his not-inconsiderable experience, very little in life happened by mere coincidence.

Whatever was going on, he could swear he heard yet another dragon roaring somewhere.

* * *

Sarah opened the door. MJ was there, with tears in her eyes.

"MJ?" Sarah said in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Me," MJ cried. "I screwed it all up."

Sarah pulled her friend inside and gave her a tight hug.

* * *

"How the Hell did we not know about this before CNN?" Stephen demanded first-thing as he came off the elevator; speed-walking through the hall toward his boardroom.

Chloe was right with him, handing over stacks of printouts as she did. "The DoD had the whole thing hushed up-nobody was supposed to know Stark was going over there in the first place, much less that he'd be in a roadside convoy getting ambushed. But then it came out that one of the soldiers in his escort tweeted about who was in his Humvee, and then tweeted that they'd been hit. Those are summaries of what's been published by the bloggers already, which is probably the best source of info we're going to get for a while…"

"…and these also force DoD to at least put on a public show of trying to find Stark, and Stark should be eternally grateful for that, because it potentially increases his chances for a successful rescue-if, indeed, he's just missing and not dead." Stephen frowned. "But if Stark was over there covertly, then the publicity might just make it harder for him to be found alive-the people who ambushed his motorcade may not have known there was anybody of such strategic importance in it until the bloggers, CNN, FOX, etc., all blew his cover." He tried not to let his own feelings about identities and cover stories being blown show on his face. "Chloe, there'll be about a thousand stockholders who want to know how this affects us. I don't have an answer for them yet. Some of them may have my number."

"I'll take care of it boss." Chloe promised. "Can I call LA?"

"Who do you know in LA?"

"Pepper Potts."

Stephen smirked. "Pepper's probably gonna be pretty pissed."

"Say that fast three times." Chloe quipped.

"We send flowers?"

"And a fruit basket big enough to feed his staff through the winter."

"Good girl." Stephen and Chloe broke company as Stephen reached his boardroom. Most everyone was on the phone.

"Have they suspended trading on the market yet?" Stephen asked by way of introduction.

"About two minutes before news broke about Afghanistan." Bailey reported. "Nobody's taken a hit yet, because nobody can buy or sell."

"Australia's up in less than six hours," one board member noted. "SEC's trying to avoid panic here, but that won't help halfway around the world, and _everybody_ will be watching ASX for the first world financial indicators. Sellers will outnumber buyers in seconds. With the economy the way it is..."

"What about us?" Stephen demanded.

"The joint venture Stane was after hadn't been co-signed yet. We aren't involved."

"Maybe not, but Stark Industries is connected to a bunch of non-military projects around the world; based on military funding. All those people who get grants won't know what to do. Most of those people come to us as well. Don't think for a second that this won't come to our door eventually."

"Stane's been on the phone to everyone, trying to convince them that the factories are still running."

"They are." Stephen agreed. "Stark never had much interest in his own company. Stane's the one running things, and he's right here." He checked his watch. "O.K. people, the U.S. markets close in three minutes; so we can be sure trading won't begin again until at least tomorrow. Go home, say hello to your loved ones, and grab a meal, a shower and a night's sleep. If they haven't found him by tomorrow, odds are they never will. Once the market opens again, we find out how this will play." He picked up his jacket. "See you in the morning."

Bailey followed Cranston out. "I don't think there'll be as much chaos as people seem to think. The loss of a billionaire isn't what it used to be."

"A fact I noticed when Victor died." Stephen said coldly. "But what worries me is Stane."

"Obadiah? What about him?"

"He's worked for that family for two generations. He's got more of himself invested in that family than Tony Stark ever did. What will he do now?"

Sam gave it some thought. "Stark Industries will be bleeding money the second trading is restarted tomorrow. Stane will have to do something." He shook his head. "Frankly, I doubt it'll drop the stock more than ten points. Fifteen max. Stark has always been the designer, but the company gets run from Stane's desk; always has been. He and Stark's PA have been running that company in all but name for years. Making Stark Industries into Stane Industries won't take too long."

"And there won't be much for us to do until Stane makes a move." Stephen nodded. "Sam, does the timing seem at all strange to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Stane was trying to get us to co-sign huge deals and loans. If we had gone through with it, that would be a blessing to Stark Industries right now. The offer was out of the blue…"

"Not really. He made similar offers to other players too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The last six months, Stark Industries has been reaching out to all the top Muscle on Wall Street."

"Does that seem at all odd to you?"

"No, it seems like they're trying to make allies. And who on Wall Street isn't right now?"

Stephen took that in and nodded.

Bailey was not dissuaded. "What? You think there was more to it?"

Stephen thought about it again and shook his head. "Nah. I'm just being paranoid."

Sam grinned. "Your uncle had the same quality about some of his Wall Street rivals. I told him that you don't have to be paranoid just because everyone's out to get you."

Stephen smirked. "Good advice. Go home Sam."

"See you in the morning."

* * *

After finally calming down to mild sobs, MJ had managed to get out the whole story.

"You think Peter's gonna be angry?" Sarah asked her.

MJ drew another tissue out of the box Sarah had placed between them and wiped tears from her eyes and mascara from her cheeks. "Of course he will. After I flat out accused him of something going on with Gwen…"

"Well, every time you turn around there's another photo of Spider-Man making out with _Gwen Stacy_!" The last two words spat with venom, and then Sarah calmed down. "But frankly, the worst he's done is help her with her homework."

MJ whined and buried her face in another tissue.

Sarah sighed. "Listen...MJ..."

"Yeah?" MJ's muffled voice replied from behind the tissue.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Put that down, honey. Just because I _can_ see your face with my brain if I want to doesn't mean I'd not see it with my eyes. Now, come on, sweetie. Do you trust Peter?"

MJ put the tissue down. "Of course I do, I was just..."

"I know. Orders."

MJ wiped away more tears. "Orders."

"But that's not why you're slipping off with Stephen every night."

MJ wondered it odd that she hadn't noticed the invisible rope Sarah had just pulled to lower the proverbial boom onto her.

"Relax. Booms aren't my style."

Now MJ caught _that_ one. "Neither is mind-reading. Where is he?"

"Why are you slipping off with Stephen anyway?" Sarah pressed.

This had to be a test, and unlike Sarah, MJ knew how to pass one of Stephen's tests the first time. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Look, I'm not going to tell Peter, and I'm not mad or jealous or anything like that!"

MJ raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you are."

"Yes, I'm going to tell Peter?"

"Yes, you're mad _and_ jealous _and_ everything like that."

"All right, fine. I'm mad. I'm jealous. I'm also really annoyed that I've known for _months_ that something was going on, but Stephen first wouldn't tell me anything, and now he's blocking my sight! You have no _idea_ how annoying that is!"

"I'm beginning to figure it out." MJ was smiling deviously now. "You're good, you know? You've added 'deliberately misleading' to the ditzy act. You seriously had me thinking Stephen was feeding you mind-reads as some kind of test."

Sarah looked away. "Truthful answer for truthful answer?"

MJ gave it some serious consideration. "I can't tell you the truth you want to know, Sarah. And you already know that."

"Truthful answer." She looked away. "That wasn't a mind-read-at least, not in the sense you know it. That was my response to the picture your brain created of me lowering the boom on you."

"Is that how clairvoyants read minds?"

She threw up her hands. "Who knows?"

_Truthful answer_. "Things O.K. between you two?"

"Getting better," Sarah admitted. "Things were rough after Victor, but the ice is thawing. I've been trying to get him to teach me how to use this brain of mine."

"He wouldn't want to. The more you know, the more involved you are."

"I know, that's why I haven't pushed it. But I wish he'd warned me about _that_ sort of thing. I've been doing it for a week now without really understanding what it was."

Now MJ was curious. "When did you finally figure it out?"

"Just now, because I figured the one person who could tell me what kind of psychic behavior I was experiencing was the one non-psychic I can trust."

That did it. Now MJ was no longer even considering crying as she burst into laughter. "Happy to be of service. So, what other psychic parlor tricks have you picked up lately?"

"Well," Sarah began as she shut her eyes. "I can see him from here."

MJ looked intrigued. "Really?"

"Well, not always, but if I try real hard, I can actually see him." She blushed bright red. "He's in the shower right now."

MJ laughed. Sarah didn't.

"You peeping Tom!" MJ laughed.

"Just, trying to get the picture clearer." Beat. And then a huge smile spread across Sarah's face.

MJ hid her face in the tissue again. "Sarah!"

* * *

Stephen stepped out of the shower, started drying himself off, then paused before taking the towel and wiping the mirror clear.

* * *

"That's weird," Sarah commented. "I'm looking through his eyes. I can see his face in the mirror."

* * *

Stephen spun and glared at his reflection. "_**Get out of my head!**_"

* * *

Sarah yelped and her eyes flew open. "He caught me!"

MJ fell back on the couch laughing.

"Oh, boy, am I gonna get it!" Sarah wailed. "He's getting much better and sensing when I watch."

MJ grinned. "Do you watch him in the shower often?"

"MJ!"

"I was just asking."

"Well, I don't do that sort of thing." Sarah snapped. Beat. "Besides. He's always keeping people out these days. Especially after that thing with Brackett."

MJ grinned eagerly. "Now do Peter."

Sarah laughed and shut her eyes. "Peter's tougher. Stephen's much easier to notice telepathically, but I think Peter's at NYU. I think in the science labs." Her grin slipped a bit.

MJ noticed. "Is he working there alone?" She asked pointedly.

"Yes." Sarah said without hesitation.

MJ started to call her on the lie when her cell phone rang. "Hello?"

"So, you enjoying the show?" Stephen snapped.

MJ sighed. "Sarah's enjoying it more than I am," she mumbled. "Stephen, we need to talk."

"Nothing good ever followed those words."

"I know."

"Tell Sarah to check her voice mail, because I imagine Marsh is the call she's been ignoring while the two of you are gossiping. Then, as soon as she realizes she's back on the clock tonight, get over here."

MJ looked over at Sarah. "Boss says check your voice mail."

"It's just Marsh," Sarah responded.

MJ held out the phone. "Do you want to tell _him_ that, or were you under the impression I was relaying a _suggestion_?"

Sarah drew back. Amazing how a conversation could shift around so quickly. She drew her cell phone out of her purse and dialed voicemail without ever taking her eyes off MJ.

And then as soon as she realized what Marsh was desperately trying to reach her about, MJ was totally forgotten.

* * *

The sewer was the most organized chaos on the island. Somehow, it all flowed to the same place, even though it came from every building and drain, some of it a century newer than the rest.

But eventually, enough of Flint Marko had flowed into the Hudson River that he was able to summon himself to the shore.

Even then, days had passed since he'd finally reached solid ground again. The water continually worked against him, and there was so much grit in the water itself that finding new sand was hard.

And then the water had him glued, keeping the miniscule particles from moving as he told them to.

Days passed. Many days. The sun rose and baked some of the sand dry. Enough that he could force himself further up the beach, disembodied and helpless.

More days passed, and the sand gathered, until he could raise a formless shape further down the shore, to where there was actual sand.

But late one night, then the air around him was silent, and Marko was sure it was safe….

…Sandman rose from the waters, ready for battle, and was now on the march.

It was more than keeping him from money now. The Spider had cold-bloodedly killed him. Or tried to at least. Some fluke of what he was now had spared him.

Get pushed, push back, or be shoved aside again and again. Standard prison rule applied.

So, the Spider had to go.

The Spider had to go or Marko would spend more weeks helpless somewhere, disembodied in a living death.

The Spider had to go.

It wouldn't be easy, and with the city still hanging banners proclaiming their love for Spider-Man, he would be the most hated man in New York history, but the Spider had to go.

He thought of Penny.

The rest was simple.

* * *

"Seldom do I hear a cry for help so well-rehearsed," Stephen responded.

MJ sighed and sat down. "Stephen… I want out. Playing Harry's amnesia so that he'll fall back in love with me, on the off chance he's still a bad guy is…what's the word I'm looking for? Damned cold blooded."

"You're saying that because you think I don't know that's what it is? Or because you think that somehow I don't know that you're even capable of such a thing?"

"I'm saying that because I'm not like you. Using people actually bothers me."

Beat. Stephen's gaze had actually lowered the temperature in the room. "And yet you do it so well, my dear."

"But _I_ don't want to!"

This time the temperature held steady. But so did Stephen's gaze.

"I'm sorry." MJ said quietly. "Been a rough day."

"That it has," Stephen muttered. "MJ, it wasn't a good thing to do, even if you _do_ do it so well. But we all do what we have to do to survive. I'd order you to do it again. And you'd do it again, and again, and _again_ if I ordered you to, because you're beginning to understand that it isn't just an order. Who else _could_ do it? Who else is there?"

"Kit Ramirez was in a hold up yesterday."

Kit Ramirez. MJ's first assignment in her new role as Network Coordinator, placing an agent in the middle of the college drug scene as a store clerk. "I heard. Some junkie who needed money."

"And he picked her store to rob. He was a regular there."

"She wasn't hurt."

"She could have been." MJ looked up at him. "I put her there, Stephen. If she got killed, it would have been my fault."

"My fault," Stephen corrected. "My agents. My network. My fault."

"I picked the place."

"And I gave the order," Stephen said sharply. "Every order I give, everything that happens to the people under my charge, comes back to me eventually. You can tell yourself that you did wrong by Harry, but the buck stops here." He slammed his fist down on his desk, atop a photo spread he'd done for charity that was in _Vanity Fair_. "This guy? He's a façade. But that shadow behind him? _That's_ the real deal. That's the face of a Cranston. The _true_ face."

MJ looked at him. "They both are. But which one others perceive as true is entirely under _your_ control."

Stephen almost startled under MJ's choice of words, then remembered the need for self-control. "Good answer." And then he let MJ see which face was in control at that moment. "So, forgive me?"

"Yeah." She sighed. "I still don't like you, though."

Stephen shrugged. "I can live with that."

MJ sighed. "I ran out of the Osborn house, and the first person I wanted to talk to was Peter. Except I couldn't go to him, could I? Because I'm keeping secrets from him now. About Harry, about… about you…"

"It is your job to keep those secrets. And your duty." The face in control never changed to a casual onlooker, but the look in Stephen's eyes was hard, dark, and cold as frozen lava, and there was absolutely no doubt which façade was _now_ in control. "Because I make those decisions on whose secrets you have to keep. I keep more secrets than you will ever know. Because that is who I am. I make the decisions. I make the choices. I take all the credit." He looked at her a bit softer now. "And I take all the blame."

MJ sighed. "I had to dance around Sarah's questions today too. I don't like that I'm hiding things from my own team too. I want… I want to be honest with Sarah and Peter at least."

* * *

After-class tutoring with Gwen had been diverting, and more than a little amusing for Peter to see the _Bugle_ picture of her and him kissing taped into the front of her notebooks.

But the picture of the old costume brought back the new one, and all that came with it. Including killing Marko.

He was dying inside. The man had killed his uncle Ben! The man had ruined his family. The man had started this endless guilt trip to make him throw away his life night after night fighting an endless war he couldn't win.

Why should he have spared Marko?

Because he was Spider-Man.

But was he supposed to do nothing?

No, he wasn't supposed to do nothing. Even Uncle Ben had been clear on that point.

And that gave Peter pause. Yes. Uncle Ben _had_ been clear on that point. Amazing how his brain never seemed to want to replay _that_ part of their final conversation-when Peter asked if he was just supposed to have run away from Flash Thompson during their school fight, Ben had been _very_ clear. No, he wasn't supposed to have just run away.

So he wasn't supposed to have just done nothing and keep running away from the feelings he _really_ had about Marko. He had to do something. He _was_ Spider-Man, dammit, and if Spider-Man wasn't supposed to do something about this, who the Hell _was_?

Peter hadn't really realized at what point he'd started walking toward Cranston Manor, nor why, but before long he'd come all the way across town and was now standing in front of Stephen's door.

Andrew opened it. "Mr. Parker?" the majordomo queried.

For whatever reason, Peter was now here and it was time to make use of the best resource he had to answer all of these dark conflicting questions. "Is Stephen in?"

"Yes, sir, but he's busy at the moment."

"Yeah. O.K., I'll wait."

Heading into the study, he paced again. Flint Marko was the man who had ruined his family. This was the man who had made the words 'power' and 'responsibility' a curse on his life. He was not supposed to just run away from that. He was Spider-Man, dammit!

"I know you're not comfortable lying to Peter."

The words snapped Peter out of his pacing.

So did the voice. That was _Stephen's_ voice. Stephen's voice, telling someone that he knew they weren't comfortable about lying to Peter.

Peter barely even processed the hint of amazement he felt at how sharp his hearing had become as he followed that voice through the halls to the library.

"It's O.K."

Now that was MJ's voice. MJ's voice telling Stephen's voice that it was O.K. O.K. About what, exactly? Surely she wasn't just being polite…

"We didn't know it was going to go on so long," she continued, as if answering his unspoken question. "Still..."

"You want to tell him now?"

"I do. But I know you don't. And… I am an agent. Even if what we're doing doesn't count as Agent work…"

"MJ...I know you love Peter, and I know I have no right to ask you to keep this up, but if he or Sarah found out what was going on between us..."

"What happened to honesty is the best policy?"

"Have I ever been completely honest about anything personal?"

"No. Y'know, you haven't actually _been_ on a date with Sarah yet, why do you have to be so sneaky? Everything the team has gone through lately, we're all a little gun-shy around each other. They'd understand."

"If you're so sure of that, why are you so tense every night? Don't think I didn't notice."

"Look, you are the most socially misfit high maintenance mess I've ever met."

"Stop sweet talking me, baby." Stephen voice was nonplussed.

"Be serious for a minute." There was a pause in the conversation that Peter wasn't sure he wanted to know about, then MJ continued. "I know that even going as far as we have…no matter how it started…was a huge deal for you, and it's kind of flattering that you picked me."

Peter turned on his heel and calmly walked out.

After all, killing Stephen wouldn't be nearly as hard as killing Marko, but MJ was present.

Such a thing needed planning before execution.

_Execution. Good word. Stephen's gonna die.

* * *

_

MJ left at some point, soon after dark.

She did not notice a coil of black emerging from the gargoyles above Cranston Manor.

Peter wasn't sure exactly when he had put his costume back on. It was just… _there_ again.

As it should be.

Inwardly, Peter had to admit a certain respect for Stephen's _chutzpa_. He was actually crossing Spider-Man, his partner. The man who could break him in half one handed. The man who had taken on super villains single-handedly. The man who had set up all the pressure sensors on the Manor rooftop.

Spider-Man dropped into the Manor, ready to kill. He could feel his new costume bunching around his chest, making his heart race again. That heavy bass beating noise was pounding through his brain like a war drum.

**Remember this feeling Parker, this is the force of Vendetta.**

Peter could feel it in his knuckles. He was going to smash Stephen straight under the chin, and bye-bye chin! He would squish so easily…

Spider-Man stalked into Stephen's study. No lights were on, except for the roaring fireplace, which somehow gave off no heat. The windows were dark as the night deepened.

Spider-Man took in the room. The ceilings were high enough for him to wait invisibly…

A shadow fell over him, and Peter turned.

Stephen was framed in the door, looking borderline violent. "_**So, does the fact that you're here in your ninja black uniform mean you know?**_" The Shadow's voice intoned.

Spider-Man felt a shudder go through him. He had forgotten for a second that Stephen was no mere mortal. Mere mortals did not cast shadows in the dark. "I've heard a few things I don't like."

"_**You told me you finished it.**_"

Peter blinked under his new mask. What conversation was Stephen having? "What?"

The Shadow gave a scornful laugh. "_**Here I thought that Marko of all people…Harry couldn't make you do it, his father couldn't, Octavius couldn't…I would have thought, of all people to let go, Marko would be the one you finally finished.**_"

Beat. Peter ripped off his mask and forgot all about Stephen and MJ, forgot all about Harry, and forgot all about Aunt May. "Marko's _ALIVE_?"

* * *

_AN: I know what you're thinking. We can only put off the explosion for so long. Big BIG things coming in the next few chapters. Read and Review!_


	11. Another Round

The Darkness Within

A Shadow/Spider-Man Crossover Novella by Stephensmat and Scarlet

Chapter Eleven: Another Round

* * *

_The Story So Far: Stephen's suspicion of the timing of a proposed joint venture being pushed by Stark Industries' CEO Obadiah Stane increases dramatically after news breaks about an ambush on a military convoy in Afghanistan that has lead to the disappearance of its precious cargo, SI's owner and weapons mastermind Tony Stark. MJ abandons her mission to watch over and manipulate Harry's feelings, and seeks consolation from Sarah, who begins to show her own jealousy over MJ and Stephen's increasingly frequent and elaborate interactions. Their conversation leads to Sarah's confession that her clairvoyance has borne its own form of telepathic mind-reading and projection, the latter of which Sarah demonstrates when she views Stephen's current activities-stepping out of the shower at Cranston Manor-through Stephen's own eyes. But when a similar attempt to view Peter's actions shows him to be with Gwen once more, Sarah conceals this information from MJ…and soon the women part company, with MJ heading off for a confrontation with Stephen over the needs of the mission to watch Harry, and Sarah heading off to the Classic to deal with the breaking news about Stark's disappearance. As Stephen and MJ discuss her place in his network, including the need for her to carry out extraordinarily specialized missions that he can trust no other agent to do, Peter Parker-becoming increasingly confused and frustrated about killing Flint Marko-arrives at Cranston Manor, seeking answers to how to handle his own darker impulses from a so-called Master of Darkness, and overhears enough of Stephen and MJ's conversation to realize that their secret rendezvous have moved beyond mere agent work…and decides that while killing Flint Marko may not have been justified, killing Stephen would not only be completely justified, but significantly easier. But as Spider-Man moves in for the kill, The Shadow scorns Peter's supposed dark turn by telling him that he couldn't even get the force of Vendetta right…because Flint Marko is alive…

* * *

_

Peter was completely taken aback by the news that Flint Marko, the Sandman, the man who'd started Peter down the rabbit hole of confusion and doubt about Spider-Man being a killer, was still alive. For a moment, he wondered if this was one of The Shadow's famous mind games, meant to distract him from his fury about Stephen becoming more brazen at putting the moves on MJ.

But data didn't lie. Peter's doubts about Stephen's veracity were quelled when he opened up his laptop and pulled up reports from The Sanctum's computers, reports that the Sandman had been spotted on various security cameras along the Hudson River, and had even pulled a handful of small smash-and-grabs. That led to the partners shaking off any scorn or uncertainty about each other's motives or recent activities and spending the next five hours in The Sanctum, following up on reports and hashing out the facts about all things Sandman.

"I keep coming back to the kid," Stephen said as he looked at the file Burbank had provided him on Marko's background. "She's got to be behind all of this. Marko's employment history was blue-collar grunt work until a few years ago, and then all of a sudden he became erratic and unreliable. Classic pattern that usually points to a serious illness in the family, and sure enough, there's a ton of reports about how his daughter's been in and out of the public health care clinics while he's been in and out of prison. She's got some form of cancer, but the cost of treatment always means she's out of the hospitals before they can do more than stabilize her. I've got feelers out to see if we can get more information about what specifically she has; maybe we can use _that_ as a way to lure him into a trap…"

Peter seethed inwardly, growing increasingly frustrated by Stephen's continued probes into the side issues about why Marko would be pursuing a life of crime in the first place. This wasn't the time to discuss psychology. This was the time to discuss destruction. And, until five hours ago, Peter was pretty sure he knew a whole lot more about how to destroy Sandman than his partner did.

And yet, Stephen was still placing himself in a position to control the discussion. Again, he was trying to control something he shouldn't just because he _could._

Wow, Peter was really starting to hate that.

"Look at all this," Stephen said, pointing to the spots on the map where reports of burglaries had been accompanied by the finding of piles of sand, or swirls of dust, or the like. "It's all petty stuff, though." He pulled up some of the agent reports alongside the map locations, indicating the specific areas struck. "He's still stealing, but it's all just…small stuff. Smashed in the window of a pawn shop. Couple of muggings. Knocked over vending machines. It's as if he isn't ready to try something on the scale of the bank again, and not just because he's afraid of getting his feet wet."

"Because it _worked_," Peter said, annoyed that Stephen was again dismissing his actions, as if the physical aspect of disintegrating the bastard couldn't hold a candle to whatever psychic answer the so-called "Master" could conjure up.

"But not enough to keep him from just swirling down the drain and settling on shore somewhere," Stephen reminded him.

Good grief, this was maddening. "O.K., psycho-snoop, then what's _your_ plan? I saw your brain knocking him around, which means mental attacks _were_ working…why did you let up?"

"I didn't let up on him," Stephen objected.

"O.K., what would you call it, then? As soon as he pulled a little sand out from under your feet, you stopped throwing psychic punches. What, you can't do physical and psychic stuff at the same time these days?"

_O.K., this is getting more than a little ridiculous,_ Stephen thought, then stopped that train of thought. He had to keep focused on the task at hand in order to rein in Peter's growing frustration. "He keeps his shape by mental control," he explained aloud. "Telekinetic attacks and thought jumbling made things hard on him, but…"

Peter wasn't liking the fact that Stephen let that sentence trail off. "'But'?" Peter demanded.

"Peter, his brain is literally made of sand. Exactly where is the grey matter to re-wire?"

"I saw it working," Peter stressed. "It. Was. Working. Why can't you just put something permanent in?"

"Because when he comes apart, so does his conscious mind. I can't hit all of it at once. I'm just not capable. Not mid-fight."

Peter felt his fists bunch. The pressure was building in his skull again. There was a ringing in his ears…

…which turned out to be the ringing of Stephen's cell phone. Stephen glanced at the number, then tapped his Bluetooth earpiece. "Anything new, Sarah?"

* * *

"He just hit another precious metals exchange office," Sarah said, transcribing a police scanner report playing in her other ear. "Barely took anything. I think you're right-he's not strong enough to hit anything that requires more than a smash-and-grab."

* * *

Stephen looked over at Peter. "Police report-Flint Marko just hit another precious metals exchange office, but barely took anything. _Definitely_ looking like he's too weak for anything big." He flashed his partner his best I'm-right-as-usual smirk, but only for a microsecond.

Just as well, because if he'd flashed it for any longer, it would be the last micro-expression to cross his face before a mere flick of Peter's fingers crushed every bone in his face.

* * *

Across town, another reporter was digging into the story of Spider-Man versus Sandman at the bank.

Eddie Brock sat at his computer, checking the latest touches to his amazing digital photos. "Check out that web action," he said, cleaning up uneven shading on one of Spider-Man's webs. "JJ's gonna love this one."

* * *

Peter found himself strangely drawn to the news story that Tony Stark was missing and possibly dead, a story plastered all over every channel on Stephen's endless bank of televisions above his main console at The Sanctum. _Figures. My uncle is murdered, and his death barely got a mention on ONE nightly news story in Queens. Tony Stark gets shot at while REAL heroes died around him, and it's saturation storytelling on every cable news outlet in the US. There wouldn't be a few billion reasons why everybody's so up-in-arms about a missing war profiteer while a brilliant retired electrical engineer brutally murdered in a carjacking doesn't even make a botoxed news reader's face faux-twitch, right?_ His suit again seemed to squeeze around his chest. _Misplaced priorities. Tony Stark makes a mint killing people and his disappearance makes the world come to a stop. Uncle Ben gets killed and nobody can tell the difference between the punk who jacked his car and the bastard who pulled the trigger. And because they can't, I go after the wrong bastard and karma bites me in the ass again. AGAIN!_

"_**Want to get your head back in the game here, Spider?**_" The Shadow's voice interrupted.

"Want me to rip your head off and shoot hoops with it?" Peter said back in as cold a tone as he'd ever heard come out of his own mouth.

Stephen was impressed with the tone. And somehow, Peter knew it and felt his own confidence level rise.

"_**Afterward,**_" The Shadow's voice noted. "_**Let's get back to chasing Sandman.**_"

But just as Peter turned his attention back to the task at hand, yet another phone call came in for Stephen on his private cell phone.

Stephen was annoyed as well by the interruption on his cell phone. One glance at the number showed it was from Chloe's home phone, not his office. He grumbled and tapped the Bluetooth earpiece. "It's awfully early for you to be haranguing me," he warned the caller.

"Yeah, well, Bailey's haranguing me," Chloe replied, sounding more than a little sleepy. "He needs to talk to you ASAP."

Stephen checked his watch. "_This_ time of night?"

"Yep." He heard her groan. "Bailey's on call-waiting."

"Fine. Tell him to call my cell."

"Will do."

Stephen tapped the earpiece to hang up the call, and almost immediately it rang again.

"Can't you put your business life on hold for now?" Peter complained.

"I wish." He tapped his earpiece. "Bailey, this had better be important."

"It is," Bailey promised. "Just got a call from a source at _The Wall Street Journal_. Obadiah Stane will be making an announcement Monday morning that is _really_ going to shake things up."

Stephen did a mental day count in his head. "What, he's going to wait 72 hours and have Stark declared dead?"

"Close. Stane apparently had a private meeting with the Chairman of the Federal Reserve about putting Stark Industries' public resources on the market come Monday. Apparently a lot of the Federal retirement plans have Stark Industries stock in their portfolios…"

"Which will make a real mess. Lovely." He looked at the mess that was before him now with Marko's return, but right now his company had a bigger mess it would have to deal with. A Stark Industries stock hit could cause his company to go either direction, and both would require his full attention. Peter could handle Marko in the interim…and it might be good for him to do so. "Give me a second-I've got another call." He tapped the "mute" button on his phone and gave Peter a glance.

"Don't tell me," Peter groaned. "You're more afraid of your stock portfolio than if Flint Marko's going to kill anybody else."

"You can handle Marko," Stephen replied, sharper than he intended to. "Might do you some good."

Peter rolled his eyes. Stephen was going soft. He'd been trying to get out of being The Shadow for weeks now, and this was one more indication that somehow, the Master of Darkness had lost his taste for war. "Fine."

"Fine." Stephen turned his attention back to the call and unmuted the phone. "Call the board. We meet at nine."

Peter shook his head as Stephen turned away from their real business. It was obvious what was going on. Stephen simply wasn't strong enough.

_And he's going to be dead soon anyway, just for touching my MJ._

Peter headed up to the streets and hit the bypass button to open the doors without locking the inner blast walls around Stephen. He needed time to think, all right, but not about taking on Marko single-handedly. Despite his frustration at Stephen's focus, the one thing that kept sticking with him was that just physically attacking Marko wasn't enough. He needed something to destroy Marko's ability to bring himself together. And that meant he needed something to destroy Marko's psyche.

But Stephen couldn't do it. He'd even admitted such. Which meant that Peter needed to find heavier artillery.

He wasn't quite sure where along the line he had put his new black mask on, but it was just…there, as he wanted it to be.

And why shouldn't it have been?

* * *

MJ felt better once the decision had been made to break off the…whatever it was…with Harry. As for what was happening with Stephen, MJ had made up her mind to tell Peter everything, no matter what Stephen said.

She knew she was gonna get it for this, but the kiss with Harry had sent a shudder through MJ. For a second, it was years ago. Her self-esteem was nonexistent, Peter was ignoring her, her professional life was sucker-punched by directors and critics, and she was receiving the sincere and frankly attractive attentions of a handsome single billionaire.

For just a second, she let herself think that it was years ago.

But it wasn't and it couldn't be.

The whole thing was damned depressing, so she'd found an all-night grocery store out in the burbs and spent a couple of hours shopping, drinking coffee, and trying to forget the Hell of the previous day. She was pretty sure she'd be able to explain the charges on her Cranston Industries' AmEx once she and Stephen talked again. Heck, even if he did get mad at her for blowing a couple of hundred dollars, it wouldn't matter. He'd still cover it, because that was just the kind of man he was. He took his mission seriously, and if that meant dealing with an agent blowing off stress this way, he'd do it.

With that, MJ let herself into the condo as the morning sun came up and set down her bags, hitting the answering machine as she headed for the coffee machine.

Beep. "MJ, do you know how I met Peter?"

It was Harry's voice, and MJ squeezed her eyes shut.

"Back in school, I was trying to bribe the school brain-box into doing my homework. I offered him up to $300. You know what Peter did? He came over to the house, he sat down with the homework, and he talked me through every question, every problem, until I answered them all myself. He did it free of charge. Then the next day's homework, and he did it all again. I owe that man a lot. I love you MJ, but you and Peter together and the only real friends I've got. MJ, I'm sorry. Please come back?"

MJ felt tears in her eyes again, and felt still further like dirt. What was she going to say to him?

* * *

Stephen arrived back at Cranston Manor as the sun came up, needing a quick shower and change of clothes before this morning's board meeting. He handed his jacket to a sleepy-looking Andrew and headed up the stairs.

"So, how'd it go with MJ last night?" Sarah called from the parlor.

Stephen stopped in his tracks and turned to Andrew. "You _were_ going to tell me she was here, right?" he chided his majordomo.

"I was, sir," Andrew replied. "But you seemed in a great hurry."

"Uh-huh." Stephen decided to let the matter drop as he went back down the stairs and into the parlor. "Aren't you supposed to be working on a story, young lady?" he addressed her.

"Two of them, to be exact," she replied. "I finished my Tony Stark story and my Sandman story both about 30 minutes ago."

"And you needed a face-to-face report…why?"

"Because it's time you and I talked about this. What is going on with you and MJ?"

Stephen accepted the coffee Andrew had poured for him and took a sip while the majordomo delivered a cup to Sarah, then waited a minute for the two of them to be alone again. "Frankly, it's nothing you need to worry about."

Sarah looked at him for a minute. "That's a slightly different answer than the 'none of my business' ones you've been giving off for weeks now. I'm not buying it any more. Want to elaborate on that?"

"No."

"See, I think you do." She gestured to a chair. "Look, sit down and talk to me for a minute. Remember? Like we used to? It won't kill you."

"No, but it _will_ make me late. I have an early board meeting."

"So? You own the company. Blow it off."

"I can't. I called it." He took a seat for a moment despite his protestations. "I can't fight Marko on my own, but I can do something to stop Obadiah Stane from destroying Tony Stark's company before the man's body's even cold."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You think the attack on Stark wasn't just a random roadside ambush," she realized.

"I don't know what I think," Stephen replied. "But I do know that if Sam Bailey had tried to sell off Cranston Industries before I'd even had a chance to step in after Victor's death, people might be asking questions about Victor's murder that wouldn't paint him in a very good light."

"Stane's trying to sell off Stark Industries?"

"At least part of it."

"Does he own enough of it to make that decision?"

"That's what I've got feelers out about. I know Stane and Stark together own majority shares, but I'm not sure what that ratio actually is. I'm wondering if Stane's going to try and take control of the board over the weekend. I'm pretty sure _that_ would be enough to override Stark's shares, especially if they're in limbo right now. If he can pull that off, then on Monday-72 hours after Stark's disappearance-he can make the case that they need to sell off shares to avoid a bigger loss in the aftermath of having Stark declared dead. I mean, 72 hours? If they can't find Osama bin Laden in nine years, how can anybody find Tony Stark in 72 hours? This is just insane. It's also a power grab. And the idea of Stane having that kind of control of all of Stark's technology _really_ makes me uneasy."

"More uneasy than a man who can turn to sand just floating around town? A man who probably killed Ben Parker? A man who has turned Peter's entire world upside down?"

He looked at her coldly. "See, this is why you were shut out after Victor died. You're trying to make mission decisions for me again."

She backed off slightly. "I swear I'm not trying to do that. I'm just trying to find out why your focus is so scattered. What is going on with you these days?"

"I'm busy." Stephen downed the rest of his coffee, then opened up a carved box on the end table and retrieved a cordless phone.

"Who are you calling?" Sarah asked.

"My network coordinator, whom I'm going to encourage to spend some time with Peter," he grumbled.

* * *

As MJ finished listening to the phone message, she debated long and hard about calling Harry back. Then she debated calling Stephen to tell him what was going on and re-assert that she couldn't keep doing this. Then she debated calling Peter and begging his forgiveness for the nonsense she'd put him through over the past few days.

Then, suddenly, the debate ended when a sudden and explosive roar of a jet turbine filled the room.

MJ felt a hand close around her throat, and before she could react, she was off the floor.

Harry, in full armor, looking like his old self again, put her against the wall. "You are no use to me now, MJ, and with all due respect to how good a kisser you are, if you pretend not to know what I'm doing here or what I am, I may just kill you on principle."

MJ swallowed, despite the fingers around her throat. "O.K."

"If you want Peter to live, you'll do exactly as I say."

MJ smirked with a bravado she didn't really feel. "As I recall, Peter is up 4-0 against Green Goblin, you, _and_ your super villain henchmen."

"Maybe he is, but you aren't. And neither is your new squeeze Cranston. Wonder how easy he squishes?" Harry shot back. "And Peter's new squeeze Gwen? I'll start with her. And Peter's Aunt May? Goblin vs. Aunt May; how's that record going?"

MJ was about to stammer out a reply when the phone rang.

MJ swallowed again. "I…I have to answer that."

Harry nodded once and kicked the phone up to his hand with his toe. "Choose your words. My hearing is better than you think."

MJ answered. "Hello?"

"MJ, it's me."

"Hi, Stephen."

"We need to talk about Harry."

Still holding her by the neck, Harry couldn't help the smirk. MJ shivered. Harry could hear both sides through the phone. "Stephen, now's not a good time. The pilot light is out on the furnace, and I'm waiting for the repairman."

"Ah. Price of living in an expensive condo is the temperamental heating. See you tonight."

MJ hung up.

"Good girl. One hero out of the way." He closed his other hand around hers to prevent her from dropping the cordless receiver. "Now it's time to talk to Peter."

MJ tried to gulp once more, then dialed.

* * *

Stephen hung up the phone and turned to Sarah. "Find Peter. Now. Harry has MJ."

"How do you know?"

"The Condo's heating is electric."

"Ah, that makes sense." Sarah mumbled and squeezed her eyes shut. "He's at the _Classic_…he's on his cell…he's hanging up the phone…he's pulling on his mask…he's…" Sarah eyes flew open. "He's gone."

"Where's he gone to?"

"No, you don't understand." Sarah looked slightly scared. "I don't mean he left. I mean he's _gone_. I lost him the second he pulled his mask on. I have no idea where he is. He's a black hole. I cannot sense him. He has vanished from my sight."

Stephen just stared at her for a moment, debating whether he should probe her mind and find out what the Hell she was seeing, then deciding that she wouldn't be lying to him about something like this. The last time Sarah had lost track of Peter, he'd transformed into a gigantic spider-like creature. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what was going on _this_ time. "How is that possible?" he demanded.

"I don't know." Sarah said, borderline terrified.

Stephen gave the problem a moment's more consideration before deciding there might be another way to find Peter. "Find MJ."

Sarah closed her eyes again. "Leaving the condo. Alone. She's hailing a cab."

"He let her go," Stephen said, concentrating hard. "Moe, pull over."

A minute later, Sarah heard the iron gates outside clang open.

Stephen checked his watch. He was going to be late to his own meeting at this rate, but there were some mission circumstances that superceded even his suspicions about Stane's motives. He turned to Sarah. "Call MJ. Her phone's probably in pieces right now, so if you can't reach her, keep looking for Peter." Stephen pulled in a breath. "We're gonna need him."

Sarah gave him a nod as he rushed out the door.

* * *

Peter came to meet MJ at the bridge on Central Park. She looked…horrible.

The roaring that had been omnipresent in Peter's head was dead silent. This one wasn't a rage against the unfairness. This one was his fault. What had happened at the restaurant was a disaster. Just one of many plans begun by Stephen that had gone awry too soon.

The first rule of a life in combat is simple. Nothing ever goes according to plan.

Peter had brought flowers. The flaw in the last plan was that Gwen had shown, and Stephen was close by with Sarah, waiting to descend on them. Not Peter's fault.

This time, it was all about him. He was alone with her on the romantic spot. He would tell her that he loved her and ask her what the deal was with her and Stephen. Calm, logical discussion. She would be his again within minutes.

_She'd better be,_ the annoyance that had been filling his mind all night piped up.

MJ was now close enough that conversation could begin. He pushed back against the frustration in his brain and put on a smile. "Hey," he said.

MJ didn't answer. Barely looked at him.

"Flowers," he said unnecessarily. "For you."

MJ took them and set her hand down on the bridge wall, holding the flowers unceremoniously.

Peter frowned. "You O.K.?"

"No," MJ said heavily. "There's something I need to tell you."

"O.K.," Peter said softly, feeling like his Spider-sense should be buzzing.

"It's not working. You and me."

Beat. Peter's brain wasn't processing. "What?" he said. It was the only thing he could say. It was a feeling he knew well. There was a heavy hit coming, and he couldn't do anything about it.

And MJ delivered the heaviest blow he had ever taken. "I don't want to see you anymore." She said it woodenly, like she hated saying it, like it was just some line in some horrid commercial she was doing because she had to.

But he knew for a fact that she didn't hate saying it half as much as Peter hated hearing it. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm lonely. You aren't there for me," MJ explained, like she'd had to before. He could see she was trying to force the words out, and he couldn't stop her. "I can't do this. It's over."

Peter felt tears welling up. "No, please don't say that," he croaked out, barely able to talk. "I know I've been selfish. But I can change, I can…"

MJ was shaking her head. She'd heard it before. She knew what he was going to say…there were tears forming in her eyes.

"We…we love each other," Peter threw out desperately, tears in his own eyes. "I love you, when people love each other, they work things out, and they talk about things…"

The roaring in his head raged suddenly, the weakness in his voice horrifying him unconditionally. Why in the world was this happening _now_? What had happened? What had gone on with her and Stephen where she would be saying _these_ things to him?

Peter fought for control and pulled out his last ace. "Look," he said, holding the wedding ring.

A strangled sob came from MJ as she looked, stricken at the sight of the ring.

Peter saw her register what it meant. "You know what this is?" he said as he fought for ground. "What I want for us?"

"There's someone else!" MJ blurted out, as though it was the only thing that could make him understand. "I've fallen in love with someone else and…_God_." Strangled, MJ turned and ran, crushing the flowers he'd brought her as she did.

And he didn't chase her.

If he _had_ followed her, he might have seen Harry, calmly concealed, having viewed the whole thing. Harry applauded lightly as MJ passed him. "Bravo." He intoned. "A much better ending than any play I could have written."

MJ stalked on, not answering. _You'll get yours buddy. This I swear to you. If Peter and Stephen don't break every bone in your bent little body, I will!_

MJ felt dirty. Like she needed to shower off the stench of what she had done to the man she loved.

But first she needed a phone. A pen and paper, a drop box to the Shadow, a carrier pigeon; something, anything to inform the others.

At times like this, she wished she were psychic. She wanted to be able to shout her feelings about this whole thing so loud that buildings would rattle.

Instead, she knew she had to get in touch with the only man she knew who _could_.

* * *

Harry did not follow her. Her part was done, exit stage left, end scene. He turned back to the bridge.

Peter looked so gutted, like he wished he was already dead.

_Then grant his wish._ His father's voice commanded.

_Soon._ Harry promised. Soon.

Harry pulled out his cell phone.

Peter answered his ringing phone. "What?" He croaked out.

"Hey, Peter." Harry enthused. "Wanna watch some cable with me? There's a replay of last night's Knicks game."

"…Harry?" Peter answered listlessly. He could barely remember that Harry existed.

"Peter? You O.K.?"

"No," Peter moped.

"Where are you?"

"The park. The bridge. There's trees…" Peter answered, still a little disconnected. "I think there are birds singing…"

"Wait right there, I'll come get you."

* * *

An hour later, the two of them were at the café Rochelle. A choice that left both of them in full view of the restaurant where Peter's life ended.

Peter wasn't quite sure how, but somewhere along the way he started seeing the day as a good thing. After all, everything worked out for him. The entire city was plastered with nothing but love for Spider-Man. If the twit couldn't see that, then who needed her? He had a whole city worshiping him.

The more Peter let himself think like that, the clearer it became.

So as he told the story to Harry, he decided he could be magnanimous towards her. He fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, but couldn't help the mild sarcasm as he listened off to Harry her whiny complaints.

"She says, that I'm not there for her," he said. "But she's the one who's hiding things. And now I know why. She says there's another guy."

Harry let out a breath, wounded on behalf of his friend. "How you holding up?"

"Harry," Peter confided. "I was about to propose."

Harry let out another breath, like he couldn't believe the near miss. "Really? Well, she's been going through a tough time lately." He said. "With her career. I mean, a singing waitress at a jazz club's not really what she wanted for herself when she came to New York."

"Singing waitress?" Peter repeated, having missed a step.

"They say that there's a broken heart for every light on Broadway," Harry said.

"What are you talking about?" Peter demanded.

"She was fired from the show. She didn't tell you?"

"She was fired? She was fired and she didn't tell me?" Peter repeated, not quite comprehending.

"Guess not," Harry confirmed. "We all knew, though."

"We?"

"Sure. Me, Gwen, Aunt May…Stephen."

Peter felt gut-checked. All those people knew, and she hadn't told him? "Wh…How?"

Harry leaned forward. "Peter, there's something I have to tell you. I hate to be the one to do it, but obviously MJ's not going to, and everyone else keeps hiding these things…and you're my best and oldest friend. You have a right to know."

"Know what?"

"The other guy? It's Stephen Cranston."

The roaring in his head came back, drowning out everything else with the bass drumbeat, calling him to power, calling him to battle, calling him to kill…

**Remember this feeling Peter, this is the force of Vendetta!**

Harry took in Peter's reaction with sincere calm. "Yeah. She came to me, after she lost her job. She blurted out the whole thing. About how she just couldn't tell you, and about how she's been spending her nights with him, and how guilty she felt for hiding things from you…she needed someone, a shoulder, a friend…I told her to tell you. I'm sorry, but it's for the best."

_Stephen's costume, Stephen's home, Stephen's sanctum, Stephen's head…those things are all flammable._

**Remember this feeling Peter, this is the force of Vendetta!**

"I'm sorry, Peter. But I thought you should know. You and MJ are the only real friends I've got left and I love you both. Hate to be the one to tell you."

_Die, laughing boy. I'm gonna end you. Finished. Nothing but hatred in my heart._

"It's hard to know who you can trust, isn't it?" Harry said, ever so sympathetic.

"Stop talking," Peter growled. He didn't recognize his voice. It was like there were two of him suddenly, both speaking at once.

"It's for the best, Peter." Harry said gently. "You need to know who your friends are."

_Find him and kill him._

Peter got up, he didn't even speak, he just marched, looking for his 'partner'.

Harry didn't follow.

Peter got across the street before he thought about Harry again. He turned to look over his shoulder at the window.

And saw Harry looking back at him, grinning wolfishly. Harry winked at his friend and turned away from the window.

Peter started back across the street, when a truck passed in front of him.

When the truck was past, Harry was gone.

How he'd done it, Peter didn't know, and didn't care. He'd seen enough.

Peter saw the whole thing in that look. Saw the whole plan in that wink. Saw the answer spelled out in one ghoulish Goblin grin.

But he was right. MJ was lying to him. Hiding things from him.

And Stephen was the other man. The fact that an enemy was the one to spell it out changed nothing.

Peter went looking for a familiar cab. He had absolutely no doubt in his mind that Harry was right. But true Vendetta meant you had to do it yourself, and Peter would be damned if he was going to let The Enemy give him all the answers on this one. He wanted to do it himself. He had to do it himself. So because it was Harry who said so, and for no other reason, Peter would beat a confession out of Stephen first. And then he would enjoy making Laughing Boy _pay_!

He didn't remember pulling his black mask on as he fired a web. It was just... there again. As it should be.

* * *

_End of Part 11

* * *

_

_AN: That's right folks, the pre-game is over. It's Explosion Time. Read and review!  
_


	12. Emergence

The Darkness Within

A _Shadow_/_Spider-Man_ Crossover Novella by Stephensmat and Scarlet

Chapter Twelve: Emergence

* * *

_The Story So Far: Peter Parker's suspicions that Stephen Cranston and Mary Jane Watson's relationship has moved beyond agent-to-agent have to be pushed aside when he learns that Flint Marko—The Sandman—is alive, and the two have a pointed discussion on how best to destroy Marko, ending with Peter's decision that even though a psychic attack is necessary to keep Marko torn apart, Stephen isn't strong enough to handle it. Not helping Stephen's situation: His increasing suspicion that something is not right about Tony Stark's ambush in Afghanistan is pushed to the breaking point when Cranston Industries exec Sam Bailey reports the news that Obadiah Stane intends to sell off Stark Industries' public interests on Monday, just 72 hours after Stark's disappearance, and he realizes he has to do something to both protect his own company and buy time for someone to find out whether Stark is dead or alive. MJ, haunted by her feelings about manipulating the amnesiac Harry Osborn, spends all night shopping and returns home to find that Harry is no longer amnesiac…and that he is now acting as the Goblin once more. He takes her hostage and tells her that he'll kill everyone around Peter—Gwen, Aunt May, even Stephen—unless MJ attacks Peter's heart directly for him. MJ manages to get off a warning to Stephen through a coded message about the pilot light being out at the condo—which Stephen informs Sarah is definitely a warning because MJ's condo is electrically-powered—but is forced to carry out the first step of Harry's plan: Breaking off her relationship with Peter for good, telling him there's another man. When MJ finishes her deed, Harry steps in with part two: Telling Peter that MJ's other man is none other than Stephen Cranston…

* * *

_

It was a good thing Stephen Cranston had decided to call this meeting at the Manhattan equivalent of dawn, 0900. If he hadn't, he might find himself arguing with his executives until the next dawn.

The board of directors at Cranston Industries was reacting to the news of Obadiah Stane's plan to sell off Stark Industries' public resources pretty much how Stephen thought they would react. Some of them wanted no part of the mess. Some of them could see only darkness. Some could see only opportunities. And _none_ could see the suspicious timing Stephen himself did.

Finally, Stephen lost patience with his 'loyal employees'. "_Shut up!_" he shouted.

The board quieted. The Cranston Temper was legendary.

"Look, you all are missing the big picture here," he said, wanting to Shadow-blast it into their minds but restraining himself admirably. "Stane is trying to turn Stark Industries into Stane Private Enterprises. He dumps the public resources—essentially, the stock—on the pretext of trying to stop the company's losses in the wake of declaring Stark dead, and voila, the company's his. The trouble is, we don't know Stark is dead. There's been no body, and there's been no ransom demands. We don't know where Stark is…and neither does Stane. _That's_ the problem."

"Sir, he was taken in wartime abduction," one of the board members volunteered. "DoD, State Department, CNN…nobody expects him back."

"If Stane really plans to go through with this," another member pointed out, "then the other Wall Street players are making their plans to move in, and we're getting left behind."

"Doesn't matter—all the patents are in Stark's name already," Sam Bailey countered. "The company's public domain, but the contracts are all US Government, the properties are privately owned."

"Sam makes a point," Stephen continued the previous conversation without missing a beat. "Who inherits all that stuff? Stark has no kids."

"None that he'll admit to," Sam put in quietly, and there was a scattering of laughter.

"People!" Stephen shut them up. "Stark's assets are his own. The bidding war over the equipment and the office furniture will be _nothing_ compared to that. If you can't take Stark Industries whole, then you won't get anything worth having."

"We can't get to any of the personal assets till they know what they are," someone protested. "And we won't know that till he's declared dead, and the will is read."

"His private lawyer won't talk," Sam protested. "Legal firms never leak."

"Can we please all stop talking about this like Stark's obituary is a shopping list?" Stephen demanded. "There are how many thousands of people who will lose out on this? The man is in a cave, probably dead, and all anybody can talk about is what they can buy off his grave."

"So, do you really want to own SI when Stark _is_ declared dead?" a skeptic member put in. "It'll be a black hole of nothingness once that happens."

"I don't want to _own_ SI," Stephen interjected. "I want to stop Stane from letting anybody _else_ own it."

Now the skepticism was hard to stop as it spread across the board. "So what _do_ you want to do?" someone finally asked.

Stephen gave what had been floating in his mind for a couple of hours now one more long consideration. "I want to issue a public guarantee."

Everyone's eyes widened. Cranston was talking about millions of dollars to be invested not in buying something, but in hedging the price to keep others from selling. It was all risk, virtually no gain. The objections got louder.

Stephen finally slammed a portfolio hard on his desk. "May I remind everyone in this room that I don't _need_ your permission to spend _my_ money?"

"If you're spending publicly-accountable CI funds, you do," Bailey stated.

"Which is why I'm going to spend my private funds to do it," Stephen replied sharply.

Silence followed his declaration. No one could believe it. It wasn't that Stephen didn't have enough private funds to do it—if financial reports were to be believed, Stephen Cranston could probably own half of Wall Street out of his own pocket—but to put a public guarantee on stock that was going on a financial roller-coaster ride once Stane put his plan into action was absolutely insane. No one on the board would let him commit company funds to do it. And yet, no one on the board could do anything to stop Stephen spending his personal funds for it.

"CHLOE!" Stephen bellowed, loud enough that everyone in the room winced.

The intercom buzzed. "You have an intercom in there too, you know," Chloe's annoyed voice replied over the loudspeaker.

Stephen counted to 10 in his head. "I want the Stark home in LA. The private residence. Put the call through to my office."

"I think we can safely assume he's not there," Sam said calmly.

"Trust me, somebody is, and they're the one we need to talk to…whoever it is." He turned to the Board members. "That will be all."

The members couldn't get out of the room fast enough, but even their pace was nothing compared to Stephen's rapid-fire hike back to his private office, Sam Bailey hot on his heels. "Kind of hard on them, weren't you?" Bailey cautioned.

"Promise me something, Sam," Stephen said. "When my time comes, have them all shot before you discuss my own belongings."

Chloe looked up as the two men reached Stephen's office. "Call on its way in right now," she told him.

"Thank you," Stephen said and shut the door to close him and Bailey inside.

The phone rang. Stephen hit the speaker. "Who am I speaking to?"

"This is Virginia Potts," A sleepy voice answered.

"Pepper? This is Stephen Cranston."

It took Pepper Potts a minute to figure out the name. "Mr. Cranston, I have no statement to make regard-"

"I'm not calling for that," Stephen said. "Pepper, I don't know if you're in the loop on the financial side of this, but-"

"The finances of Mr. Stark's accounts are all private information, Mr. Cranston. If you have any inquiries regarding the industrial accounts, I would suggest you call Obadiah Stane…"

"Pepper, listen to me," Stephen said sharply, and Pepper fell silent. "Are you O.K.?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

Stephen sent Sam a glance and picked up the phone. "Pepper, when my uncle died, his personal assistant turned in her notice on my first day. You don't work that closely with someone and see him as the office. Not if you haven't quit after a few years. How long have you been with Tony?"

Beat. "Mr. Cranston," Pepper said softly, "I am keeping the hordes of vultures away from Tony's legacy armed with nothing but loyalty and coffee-backed adrenaline. I don't know what you think regarding my relationship with Mr. Stark, but…"

"I think you're his right hand. I think you're the one that takes care of him, even when he doesn't know. And I think you're answering his home phone at six-thirty in the morning Pacific. And I think it's because you haven't left his house since you heard he was missing." Stephen sighed. "I know what helplessness feels like, Pepper. If this was about the money I never would have called you. This isn't CI's CEO talking. This is one orphan, to the other orphan's final friend. When they decide its all fair game, you can't keep them away from anything."

He could hear Pepper thinking. "What _are_ you calling for?"

"You need a liability shield. Something to keep the vultures away. A temporary trust fund, if you will. Something to keep everything you can protect from a mountain of sell orders that are about to hit."

"Mr Stane has already placed Stark industries in a liability contract with the Government."

"The Government is gonna focus on the patents. They don't want his assembly line or his office space, they want the weapons. All that stuff is in Tony's name. Pepper, how many people have legal authority to use Stark's private assets?"

"Just me and Obadiah," Pepper said. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

"The lawyers will plead No Confidence. The tycoons will descend on you, and say you have no right to it all. They'll pry your hands open, and take whatever they can. You need a backer. Someone who can keep everyone calm. If the major players can't get hold of Stark's money, they'll settle for knowing that nobody else can."

"Obadiah," Pepper said instantly. "He's been the main power with the board since Tony's father died. They'll accept him as new CEO."

"Then you'd better get a contract drawn up. Something that certifies that Stane has control over what he needs to, but _nothing_ else. Nothing until you are sure Tony Stark is dead." He paused for a moment. "As for the rest, I'm going to personally put forth a financial guarantee for SI's public stock. I'm going to put in an order to have the stock backed up at the price it was before Tony was taken. It will hold there until we have some sort of closure over Tony's legal status."

Sam jumped out of his seat with his jaw hanging open.

"Why would you do that?" Pepper asked.

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Obadiah Stane went to the Fed Chair. On Monday, the public assets are going up for sale."

"_What?_"

"You didn't know?" Stephen said in surprise.

"I…I've been dealing with the Press Requests and the…" She got silent. "Mr. Cranston," Pepper said slowly. "I don't know what you stand to gain over this, but…thank you for your advice."

"What I stand to gain is stability. The billionaire set isn't what it used to be, Pepper. I want to protect what's left of our little club while I still can. The next step is gonna be having him declared dead, you know that."

"I know," Pepper said quietly. "Mr Cra…Stephen. You should see this place. Nothing but gift baskets and flowers. The world gave up on him. They've already written him off."

Stephen winced. "Yeah, one of those will have my name on it."

Pepper gave a bitter chuckle. "We have a lot to lose, don't we?"

"The bidding is already starting. If—" He caught himself. "_When_ Tony comes back, you can get it all back, but his first eight months back will be spent in lawsuits."

"We've gotta keep the core of the business protected," Pepper said.

"Inheritance Laws will help you there," Stephen said. "But you'll need a heavyweight to back you up." He took a breath. "News will break about the bidding war tomorrow morning. By lunchtime, sellers will go berserk, and the stock will drop through the floorboards. Or, you can call Stane and tell him that he can announce to the world that Cranston Industries will provide Stark shareholders with a guarantee loan for all their stocks, dollar for dollar, and save everybody's hide."

"I'm serious now," Pepper snapped. "Just what do you gain from this?"

"Equity. Stark returns, the market rebounds, the assets are safe, the loan is repaid. If…if he doesn't, the loan defaults, the core business goes to us to pay it off, the Private stuff like the patents, personal accounts and property goes to whoever Tony promised them to; and the whole thing is over in one piece. No bidding war, no upheaval, no lawsuits."

Pepper sighed. "I don't have the authority to do that. Not without talking to the legal inheritors. Which will probably be Obadiah."

"I wouldn't be too sure it's Obadiah. In fact, I'll bet it's _you_ who has that kind of authority."

She sounded surprised. "But I don't."

"Tony will have given it to you. Check his paperwork. Seriously, there are probably emergency instructions somewhere that gives that control to you, probably in that note he gave you in a casual way and told you to never open it unless he didn't answer his phone for more than a couple of days." The gasp he heard was more than enough to confirm his suspicions. "Odds are he won't have told you, but I think you'll be surprised how much of it goes to you."

Beat. "Why do you say that?" Pepper wavered.

"Because you're the only one waiting for him to come home," Stephen said quietly.

Silence. Pepper sounded a little strained. "I have to call Obadiah."

Stephen nodded, though she couldn't see. "Tell him that we stand ready to assist."

Pepper sniffed. "I didn't think you liked him."

"I don't, if 'him' is Obadiah," Stephen said. "But Tony…let's just say I understand him more than he thinks I do. He has a family legacy to uphold, lots of people to keep above water on his shoulders, and he's the last man to carry the name. Speaking as one orphan to another, he's not alone."

"Thank you, Mr. Cranston."

Stephen hung up. He turned to Sam. "Get the loan ready. If Stane calls back, we'll have a deal. Have legal make it ironclad."

"You think it'll work?"

"Stark will be declared dead after a discreet interval. The private money, property and patents will go to whoever Tony willed them to, but the actual tonnage of Stark's holdings will be protected by our loan. Having the guarantee will prevent the stock from collapsing and taking Wall Street with it. No buying craze, and if Stark doesn't come back, we get everything. Nobody loses their job, nobody goes bankrupt."

"It's a good deal."

"Depends on what the people with the most invested in Stark have to lose," Stephen finished. Then he noticed the fire opal on his finger flashing slightly. Hopefully this was news about MJ, and hopefully it was _good_ news. "Have the paperwork on Chloe's desk. I have an appointment."

"This early?"

"When have you ever known me to keep regular hours?" He gestured with his head at the door.

Bailey didn't really need the psychic _Get Out_ signal Stephen was projecting to tell him he'd better get his act in gear before Stephen decided to fire the next person who ticked him off. He raced out of the office.

* * *

Stephen gave a hard sigh. Now to deal with MJ. He grabbed his coat and headed out the door, mentally sending for Moe and verbally ordering Chloe to cancel his afternoon appointments almost simultaneously.

"Where to?" Moe asked as Stephen got in the cab.

"The Sanctum, and make it fast," Stephen said, sending a psychic signal back to Burbank to extinguish the glow in his ring. "I'm hoping this is news about MJ, because if it's not, I may go postal if somebody dumps one more thing on my plate…"

And at that moment, his cell phone rang. A glance at its display told him it might not be something new on the plate. "Any news?" he asked Sarah Branson as he answered it.

"If you're heading to The Sanctum to answer a note, don't bother," Sarah told him. "MJ just called me. She's the one trying to get hold of you, but didn't want to call you directly."

Stephen felt his heart skip a beat. "What did he do to her?"

He heard Sarah hesitate. "She's…Stephen, she's inconsolable."

Stephen bit back the anger that Sarah's words provoked in him. _If Harry hurt her,_ he mentally seethed, _I swear I'll kill the bastard with my bare hands…_ "Go to her, and keep her safe," Stephen directed. "Any line on Peter?"

"I found him an hour ago. He was talking to Harry. Harry was telling him that MJ's cheating on him with you."

Now _that_ put a whole new spin on MJ's grief. "What?"

"You heard me." Beat. "Not that I believe him, or anything, but I can't promise that _Peter_ doesn't…"

"Where is Harry now?"

"At home, cackling like an evil mastermind."

"And Peter?"

"I don't know. He put his costume back on and vanished again."

That statement gave him more pause than even Harry cackling. If Sarah couldn't see Peter in this new costume, what was going on? Clothes had never fooled Sarah's clairvoyance before. "_How _is he doing that?" Stephen demanded.

"I don't know, but if you figure it out will you let me know?"

There was a loud thump from the roof of the cab. Both Stephen and Moe jumped.

"What was that?" Sarah asked sharply. "I heard something."

"Never mind," Stephen groused. "I found him. See you later." Stephen disconnected the call.

Peter opened the sunroof and let himself into the cab, dropping down into the rear driver's side seat with such smoothness that Stephen would have sworn the man was made of rubber or liquid.

"That was risky," Stephen observed, trying not to let on that Peter's antics were becoming increasingly disturbing. "Broad daylight, you're not masked…"

"Nobody was watching, and we have to talk," Peter interrupted.

"Damn right we do. I have been looking for you since…"

"Oh, I've been looking for you, too, _old pal_."

Now Stephen _really_ was annoyed with Peter's tone. "Did you know that Sarah can't sense you when you're in costume now? How the Hell did you pull that off? I've been trying to figure that one out for years."

"Why were you looking for me?"

Stephen growled. "Harry remembers."

"Oh, really?" Peter licked his lips. "That's funny, because Harry told me something very interesting." He could see it so clearly. Stephen's head would come straight off his neck, bounce off the glass, maybe hit Moe in the back…this was it. "He told me about you and MJ…"

"Stop the car!" Stephen barked, shifting topics instantly.

Moe did so in a great hurry, screeching to a stop in probably the only on-curb parking available for blocks. "What's up, boss?" he asked, confused.

"Take a walk, Shrevnitz," Stephen ordered sharply.

"Yes, sir." Moe immediately got out of the cab and started walking.

Stephen waited until the cabbie was out of sight, then turned in his seat to face Peter. "So what _did_ Harry tell you? I'm really interested to know, because he's not exactly privy to my social schedule."

"He didn't tell me much. But he didn't have to." Peter's eyes were dark, and his face was showing that snarl he'd been sporting increasingly frequently. "I know you're together every night. And I know you two have been lying to people about what you're doing."

"Lying about what?"

"Look, don't play dumb with me. I've heard you two talking. I know she was upset about lying to me, and I know you've been going out of your way to hide things from Sarah, which is no mean feat these days. I'm getting tired of being the last to know what's going on with the woman who's supposed to be _my_ girlfriend, the woman who's flirting with Harry Osborn because the _Master_ thinks she should, the same woman I've now been told is getting it on with you these days…"

"We're not 'getting it on'! Where in the world did you get _that_?"

"So what's with all the heartfelt conversations? All of the sneaking around? All of the lingering hugs and meaningful looks? And you came to her side awfully fast at the Constellation when I'm trying to propose—am I supposed to believe that she suddenly turned on me just because she was mad about Gwen Stacy?"

"Yes!" Stephen looked aghast. "Peter…my God, man, I'm not stupid! This is the woman you love! I would never even think of…"

"…stealing her away?"

The two men were now staring at each other, as if neither could believe the other was behaving this way.

Stephen couldn't believe Peter's jealousy was derailing his usually logical train of thought…not to mention overriding his near-worship of MJ. One hint from Harry Osborn, a man Peter _knew_ was insane when he had his memory and insanely jealous of Peter when he was amnesiac, and Peter was off on _this_ kind of tear? What the Hell was going on here?

Peter couldn't believe Stephen thought he was this stupid. Hadn't he said just days earlier that he knew Peter was smarter than him? Maybe Peter had somehow missed the sarcasm in Stephen's words, because the man was still looking at Peter as if he were insane for even implying he was putting the moves on MJ when the facts were in evidence for all to see.

Stephen was the one who got his voice back first. "Peter…there's something you're not getting. You're not getting it because we've tried to keep it under wraps up to now, but it's not what you're thinking. MJ and I are not in any way together. She just barely declared us friends!"

"I remember. You two became actual pals about the time Brackett wiped your memories and you were ready to run off to Italy or something. Right?"

Stephen started to speak, failed. Started to say something else, no luck. "O.K," He almost laughed. "O.K. Um, there's a _really _good answer to that!" He licked his lips. "And…I will give it to you. Any second now."

"I would be very interested to hear it."

"O.K., um…you know how much of my life has been taken up by the Mission."

"Yes," Peter was content to wait. His spider-sense was silent. Stephen was less than harmless. For once, the All-Seeing, All-Knowing Shadow was struggling to tap dance his way out of a jam, and Peter was content to let him try. It wasn't going to change anything.

"My Uncle commented once that I was effectively a monk. No hobbies, no relationships, no distractions. Just devotion to The Cause. And after…well, a lot of things, I think that maybe I ignored a little too much. So I asked MJ to help me with one of the things that kept coming back over the years."

Now, Peter seemed interested. He was being insecure. Another first. "And that is?"

Stephen looked embarrassed. "dnclessns."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"Dance lessons. MJ's been teaching me to dance." Stephen still looked uncomfortable.

For almost five full seconds, the two men sat in silence. Then, Peter burst into hysterical laughter.

Stephen looked offended. "It's not _that_ funny."

"Oh, yes, it is." Peter was thrashing back and forth in spastic convulsions from the force of his laughter, tears streaming down his face as howls of mirth came pealing out of him endlessly. And to think he'd only moments earlier been wondering if Stephen and MJ were doing some kind of horizontal gyrations. The absurdity of the entire thing was just incredible. Stephen and his oh-so-scary reputation would _never_ live this down.

Stephen got out of the car, shut the door, and leaned against the side of the car for several minutes while Peter kept cackling. "_**Let me know when you're done so we can get down to some serious business,**_" he mentally complained.

It took quite a long while; but finally, the noise settled down.

Stephen got back into the cab. "Feel better now?" he asked, his tone annoyed.

"Spidey's very happy," Peter laughed. He felt like he'd lost a hundred pounds. He hadn't felt this good in weeks.

Stephen shook his head wryly. "You really thought MJ was cheating on you with me? Peter, she adores you. Plus, you're my partner. I am nothing if not loyal to my people."

_He is. He really is. He'd die for his agents. He'd kill for his agents. So why would he betray one so brutally? And her! MJ. My MJ, she only barely started counting Stephen as a friend…how could I have thought that?_ Peter got stuck on that thought. _No, really…how could I have thought that?_ Aloud, he started explaining. "Stephen, she's sneaking out to meet you, she won't tell me why…"

"We knew there was a risk to this if you or Sarah found out what was going on, but really, there was no one else I could trust. Gwen doesn't know the secret, and I'm trying like mad not to destroy any future I might still have with Sarah. MJ was the only one I could turn to for this. I'm sorry if it drove a wedge between you two."

There was something about this story that was still incomplete, though. "You can't tell me that you spent all this time learning how to two-step," Peter said suspiciously.

"No. See, that was how it started. But…" He sighed. "My relationship with Diane was a disaster because I was ignorant to the point of stupid of how things worked in relationships. She led me right off a cliff and I never even knew it was there." He rubbed his face. "MJ made the comment that there was more than dance steps missing. And she was right. I was getting somewhere with Sarah, and then when she awakened, I saw how I actually treated her, and I…I really didn't measure up. And then after what happened with Victor, I reacted to her part in it the way The Shadow would. You'll never know how close I came to just…" He snapped his fingers lightly, letting the unspeakable thought go unsaid. "Interactions with other people have always been my weak suit."

"O.K., that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say," Peter countered. "Not two weeks ago you had the whole city doing what you wanted; you are not blind to how people work."

"That's not interaction, Pete. That's manipulation. It's me getting people to do what I want because they want to do it. I am very, _very_ good at that. But I didn't want to manipulate Sarah. I wanted…for lack of a better word, I wanted something _real_," He looked his partner in the eye for the first time. "This guy, Stephen Cranston? He's not real. Nothing real about him. There's nothing real in my life. Not even my name. Not even my face."

Peter suddenly realized how badly he felt for his friend. Stephen had lost more than Peter had on account of the All-Important Mission.

"Remember when we went back, and met my Grandfather?" Stephen continued.

"I remember you giggling like an idiot child."

"Well, after that mission, I realized that for all I idolized my grandfather, I knew nothing about his life with Margo Lane. And after the thing with Gwen…when I said that I couldn't keep sending people away…I realized that I was sick of it. I was sick of losing people. I know it's harder for people like us, but you make it work. My father made it work. My grandfather made it work…MJ is the only one I can talk to about this," He shrugged. "So we made a regular thing of it. And then after a while she made the point that you and I are Night and Day, so any of her advice wouldn't be really helpful. That's when I dug out all of my grandmother's Journals, and while she obviously didn't put anything about The Shadow in them, we could read between the lines, and I had all her husband's mission notes…"

Peter burst into hysterical laughter again. He was thrashing around so much his head was banging against the side of the cab.

"What now?" Stephen roared angrily over him.

"You! You are babbling! I have never heard you say more than two sentences you didn't have to in all the time I've known you. And you are babbling! Spidey finds this most appealing!" He wiped tears out of his eyes. "To say nothing of trying to get dating tips from anyone involved in one of _my _relationships."

Stephen smirked despite himself. "Pete…It was working."

"What?"

"That night you tried to propose…I was across the street with Sarah…our fingers were _this _close to touching. It was…so very real. Peter, a year ago it never would have happened. I would have stuck my foot in my mouth again, like I did that night we discovered Harry was coming back. MJ's been invaluable to me, Peter. She really, really helped."

"O.K., so you're not The Other Guy." Peter grumbled. "But she _has_ been hiding things from me. And she's been going to you about things that she normally would come to me for…"

"Can you blame her? Her personal life has been on a low while yours has been on the high of the decade. I put so much work into making you a public hero that…" Stephen stopped himself before he finished that thought. "And then this thing with Harry…"

The mere mention of his name sent Peter into the same homicidal rage that he'd felt when he got into the cab. "Harry remembers."

Stephen nodded. "Yes, that was what I was trying to say before you got off on the psycho-boyfriend track."

"How did you know?"

"MJ called in, gave me a coded message, saying she was on her way to see you. I can't take Harry alone, and Sarah couldn't find you, which I assure you, is a topic we'll be returning to once this is done."

Peter nodded and took up the narrative. "He forced MJ to break up with me, and convince me that there was somebody else. Then he met me for coffee and told me that the other guy was you."

Stephen's face hardened. "He's putting you against me using MJ as his weapon. The Classic Goblin tactic. Attack not the head, but the heart."

"It wouldn't have worked if MJ and Harry hadn't been so close this week." That thought brought back other darker considerations. "Did you send MJ to Harry?" Peter demanded.

"Her job was to watch him," Stephen reminded him.

"That's not what I asked, and you know it. Did you send MJ to Harry?"

Stephen just glared at his partner. Peter wasn't normally this dense.

"Did you?" Peter demanded. "Answer me!"

"If you had let me kill Harry when we had the chance, this wouldn't have been an issue!" Stephen yelled back.

Stunned silence.

"You're right," Peter said.

Long silence.

"What?" Stephen said finally.

"Osborn, Khan…all those bad guys only have to win once," Peter said with calm confidence, like he had discovered the meaning of life.

A long beat of silence passed. "Yes," Stephen said finally.

"All my talk about power and responsibility, and I never once decided to play the same game that all our enemies play." Peter was actually chuckling, gesturing around, and looking for the entire world as though he was about the start a song and dance number. "How many times have you said it? A dark and shadowy world. And you keep acting more savage and brutal than me, because you got it, and I didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything I've always done is reactive. I never plan how to take on an opponent; you do that. I just show up and see what happens. What you said yesterday. Power. I've got it, so why the Hell do I keep treating it like an unwanted burden? You keep doing all these dark things, because they need to be done, and you can't win this fight without getting your hands dirty." Peter was laughing gently. "You are the boogeyman that criminals fear, and I'm the spandex circus clown with witty dialogue."

Stephen was once more intrigued by this new Peter who was emerging in the wake of the revelations about Flint Marko. "It's not a clean and wholesome life, Peter, so sue me if I wanted to keep your hands clean."

"'Wanted to'. Past tense?"

"You took a plunge when you killed Marko. Or when you tried to kill Marko. For the first time, you finally seemed to get it. You've always shied away from following the fight against evil to its logical conclusion. You've always stopped just short, showing your enemies a compassion that they would never even consider showing you. Compassion was always your strength."

"You say that word like you don't approve of it."

"I approve of compassion absolutely; if somebody had written off my grandfather as too evil to live once upon a time…"

"True enough."

"We are warriors, Peter, fighting an impossible war that we will never win. We've found enemies that we can kill."

Peter was almost dancing, feeling completely in sync with his partner for the first time. "I found mine, you found yours."

"Did it feel good?" Stephen asked pointedly.

"What?"

"When you watched him getting washed away, helpless, dying…how did it feel?"

"Felt like justice."

"Did it feel good?" Stephen repeated.

"It did. Now…now I'm not so sure."

Stephen thought about this long and hard. "O.K. What do you want to do now?"

Peter felt something, like a stretching across his chest. The suit was bunching his muscles; it felt powerful. "You offering me permission?"

"I'm not giving permission, and you don't _need_ me to give permission," Stephen stated, cold and deadly. "I am turning you loose. What Khan's family is to me, the Osborns are to you. If ever you had the right to make a choice about your enemy, it's now. Once upon a time…I would have made the choice for you. It's the choices that make us who we are. I chose the dark and ghoulish path, you picked bright red and blue spectacle."

Peter opened his shirt. The black suit was underneath. "Not any more."

Stephen had to smile. The suit really _did_ look better in black. "So…what do you want to do?"

There really was only one answer. "End this," Peter hissed.

Stephen mentally sent for Shrevnitz as he popped open the under-seat drawer.

* * *

Sarah set down the phone. She came into the room quietly.

Mary Jane was blubbering into her drink, looking maudlin. "Sarah…I screwed it all up again. What happened with me and Harry brought out the Goblin. I made it happen. It can't be anything else."

"You don't know that," Sarah soothed as she put an arm around her friend.

"Yes I do. I was there. Before I left Harry's…he was just Harry. My…my boyfriend. before Norman told Harry to dump me, before Stephen made me his spy, before Goblin picked me as Spider-bait, before Peter made me the charter member of the Superhero First Wives Club…it was me and Harry." She sniffed. "And then, he was Goblin again. After I rejected him. After I led him on, and shut him down, he was Goblin again. It's all my fault."

"Did you love him?" Sarah asked quietly. "Before all that…"

MJ didn't answer for a long time.

"You did," Sarah answered her own question."

"Yes."

"How? You're not stupid; I know _that_ for a fact. How could you have fallen for somebody like…like _him_?"

"You didn't know him," MJ snapped, then calmed down. "Before it all went bad, I was just a girl with a rotten father who wanted out, and he was just a boy with a rotten father who knew the feeling. We…we made each other feel good about ourselves. Peter did that too, but he was starting out as Spider-Man…and Harry was the one who seemed to notice me in the room."

"And now?"

"And now I ruined everything. Harry was only Harry because Stephen gave him a telepathic lobotomy. The Harry I liked was dead until…I ruined everything."

"You did all that because Stephen told you to," Sarah consoled her.

"Not all of it," MJ sniffed. "I could have stalled Harry. I could have tipped off Peter at the park. He knows the codes Stephen taught us, too. I could have warned him."

Sarah just stared. "Then why didn't you? You aren't wrong. Peter's beaten back a Goblin four times over by now."

MJ started crying again. "Because…I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him hate me, and I wanted him to be miserable. Just for a little while. I wanted him to stop worshiping me when I keep screwing up. I wanted him to stop seeing stars when I wash out. I hated the way he kept…" She sniffed more tears back. "I used to love the way he made me feel, Sarah. That I could just be myself, and Peter loved me for it."

"But not any more?"

"My Dad, he wanted me to…I don't even know what he wanted of me, but he never pulled his punches when I didn't measure up."

Sarah drew in a breath of realization, and hugged her friend tightly.

MJ kept talking. "Harry, he made me feel good about myself, and then he wanted to put me on show for his dad's approval."

Sarah hesitated, but finally spoke. "And Stephen?"

MJ wiped her face, blinking back more tears. "Stephen…is honest. When I screw up he tells me so. When there's something he wants me to do, he's honest about the reasons why it should be me. And he shows that he has faith in me for a reason."

Sarah took that in and felt sad for a reason she couldn't place.

"But Peter…he made me feel special by simply being me. But I'm not like that, Sarah. Peter has faith in me for no reason. Peter thinks I can't possibly screw up at all. And the more Peter told me I was perfect…the more imperfect I feel," She looked helplessly at Sarah. "I wanted him to hate me. I wanted him to be hurt. Stephen too. I wanted him to pay for making me keep secrets. For making me go to Harry."

"Stephen had no right to do that," Sarah said firmly. "To make you go to him that way."

MJ started blubbering again. "That's the problem, Sarah. Are you out of your mind? Stephen didn't tell me to seduce Harry. It turned out that way, because just for a second, Harry was the one that liked me as much as Peter did, with none of the secrets and lies that Stephen puts on me."

Sarah didn't have an answer for that.

"I kissed him," MJ whispered. "Because just for a second I wanted to believe it was real. That Stephen hadn't programmed Harry like a zombie, and Peter wasn't waiting for me…I wanted it to be like it used to be, before Peter and I fell in love, and before I knew The Shadow existed."

Sarah's phone rang. She kept one arm around MJ and answered. "Hello? Yeah, she's right here," She listened for a beat. "O.K. I'll tell her." She listened a lot longer. "WHAT?" She looked at MJ. "Really?"

MJ looked past the bottom of her drink. "What is it?"

"O.K," Sarah whispered into the phone. "Stephen…I just…before you go and…never mind. Just, be careful."

MJ winced and looked back at her glass.

Sarah hung up and took the bottle off MJ, pouring herself a drink. "Well, looks like you succeded in making Peter burn."

MJ winced.

Sarah leaned back in her seat and looked squarely at the red head. MJ was about to get her wish, because _somebody_ was about to get hurt. "Peter and Stephen are heading for Osborn Manor."

MJ sighed. "I almost feel sorry for him. God, Sarah, do you have any idea how much Hell they're going to dish out on Harry…" She stopped herself, then used the name that Peter himself was likely using. "…I mean, Goblin, now?"

Sarah kept staring at her, barely restraining herself.

"What?" MJ complained at the scrutiny.

Sarah suddenly broke down laughing. "Dance Lessons?"

* * *

The sun was settling as Harry calmly prepared himself a martini, with two olives. "You take two olives, right, Cranston?" he said as he swirled the drink in the glass.

"I never drink on duty," Stephen replied in a cold tone.

Harry smiled easily, in no particular hurry. "How about you, Pete? Would you like a drink?" He turned around again, and this time Peter was there, Stephen at his side, both of them dressed in black, and looking for war. "Oh, what was I thinking? You don't drink the hard stuff. Bad for public image, right, Mr. Key to the City?"

Stephen took stock of Harry. "I wasn't sure what set it off. But when I found out about your coffee with Peter here, I saw the point. MJ's always been his one stupid streak. Well, other than saving your life of course."

"I'm a little surprised you let me get away with a mental remodel," Harry admitted. He still had the martini in his hand, calmly munching on one of the olives. "Seems I'm tougher than that."

"Don't be surprised at all," Stephen said, as a matter of fact. "I wanted to kill you in your sleep."

"And next time, I'll let him," Peter snarled.

Harry observed the two men. Peter wasn't wearing a shirt, just a hoodie, and the black Spider pattern of the costume clearly visible. Stephen had the black clothes, but no hat or cloak. The huge silver guns plainly in sight, and a familiar blade slung across his back, blade handle over one shoulder.

"That's my sword," Harry said evenly, pointing accusingly at Stephen.

"Spoils of war," Stephen calmly settled into a crossed arm pose, keeping his hands tucked out of sight. "MJ actually broke up with him once before, you know. For exactly the reasons she gave him on the bridge. But then, you knew that. That's why you used that particular move. Because as far as we knew, you had no memory of it happening."

"MJ's quite the heartbreaker," Harry agreed. "I should know—I was a guest at her wedding. You remember that one, right, Cranston? The one you showed up for that was over before it started? Yeah, that one."

"So what was the final point, Harry?" Peter demanded.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Final point?"

"Was he supposed to kill me? Or just divide the team?" Stephen asked. "You had to know that Spider-Man's partner and Peter Parker's were the same."

"I did," Harry said. "I figured you'd have to be the one that made me forget, so if Peter and you were at each other's throats, it'd be nothing but good for me. And if he happened to put you down before he worked it out…well…Peter never could stomach his own decisions. He didn't even have the spine to let me die on my own. Killing you would put him over the edge."

"Attack the heart," Peter said. "Classic Goblin tactic. And it worked too. I bought it, for reasons you don't know about. Except that you were stupid enough to act like you knew things about my family that I didn't. Did you think MJ wouldn't come running to one of us the second you let her go?"

"It was a great piece of work, Harry," Stephen concluded. "But you shouldn't have signed your name."

Harry applauded softly. "Bravo," He mocked. "I salute you, Shadow Detective."

"Last time we stood in this room, I had to leave before I could finish the cleanup, because you were stupid enough to trade the entire city of New York for the chance to kill a man that you let walk away," Stephen said. "We're not leaving it half finished this time."

"Sit down, mortal. This is between the Spider and Me. You have no place in this," Harry dismissed. "Peter, the trick only would have worked if you let it. All I did for MJ was what you failed to do. If you had been there, if you had shown her concern, maybe you would have known she had lost her job, or was spending her time with me and Stephen…but you were just too busy posing for pictures, weren't you?"

Peter growled, stepping forward slowly.

Harry kept his face casual, but both he and Stephen reacted to the movement, stepping in counterpoint, keeping themselves in a relative position. "It was great, Peter. She may have been here on assignment, but she still liked it better than the time she's spent with you lately."

Peter moved again. So did Harry and Stephen. Step, shift, step.

Harry kept twisting the knife. "She and I, we were always a better fit than you. Just because you worshiped her doesn't mean you actually cared enough to spend time with her."

Peter moved again. So did Harry and Stephen. Step, shift, step.

Harry was relentless. "Her family? Mine? We were the same. My father was just hers with money. She and I understand each other very well. That's why laughing boy here picked her to be my keeper."

Peter moved again. So did Harry and Stephen. Step, shift, step.

Harry lowered the coup de grace. "And when she kissed me? It was like time itself just melted away. It was like old times."

Peter's eyes bulged.

Harry closed his eyes, like he was savoring it. "Peter…she tasted just like I remembered her." He sighed lovingly. "Strawberries."

For the first time in all their fights, Peter swung first. It was an absolutely vicious blow.

In fact, it was almost as powerful as Peter's follow-up punch that sent Harry flying back into the staircase support column.

Harry's eyes cleared and held nothing but murder. There was a sound of metal.

Peter's eyes widened. He had moved without even being aware of it. He looked down. One hand was wrapped around Harry's wrist, where he had tried to run him through…

…with the knife. With _that_ knife. The one Harry held the last time Spider-Man was in this room.

Peter forced the hand back a little. The knife had dug in enough to pierce the suit, and draw half an inch of blood. Peter threw the first punch, Harry had drawn first blood.

Harry tried to throw a punch, which Stephen was able to check. Stephen had both hands wrapped around Harry's left arm, struggling to keep it away from Peter's face.

Three wickedly curved blades suddenly snapped out of Harry's sleeved forearm…the Goblin's scallops.

Stephen and Peter both reacted. Harry was better prepared than they'd thought.

Harry took advantage to give them both a savage kick, sending both of them back, Stephen halfway across the room into the couch, Peter in the opposite direction against the side of the staircase.

Harry lunged for Peter, and was sent back against the column again, Harry pressed off against it and started wining hard and fast, slashing at Peter's face with the tri-bladed forearm. Peter moved quick and nimble to dodge.

One swing almost landed, when steel clashed with steel. Harry looked, and saw Stephen, catching the curved blades along the edge of a glowing green sword.

Harry spun the other way, swinging with his forearm to begin, then with his other fist on the follow-through, a move that Peter recognized from his father, and Peter had to jump back against the pillar himself. Harry swung for the head, and managed to bury the blades into the stonework. Peter gave the arm an uppercut, breaking the blades off completely.

The move left him open though, and Peter was sent flying into the bookshelf, bringing the whole thing down on him.

Peter fought to get out of the wreckage, and kept half an eye on Harry, trying madly to land a blow on Stephen. The transformed Shadow was in close combat with Harry, and making tiny shifts in posture that made Harry miss by a fraction of an inch, blow for blow. Harry's face twisted angrily, infuriated by The Shadow's technique at work.

Finally, Harry gave up and threw himself backward, giving himself room, and then throwing forward again, taking Stephen in a full tackle…

Stephen tilted into a bizarre martial arts move, and suddenly Harry was flat on his back. He was unhurt, and raised himself up in fury.

"You think you're the first guy I've fought who's stronger than me?" Stephen taunted, spinning the sword elaborately. "All muscle. Between the ears."

Harry was upright, circling behind the desk in a fighting crouch. Stephen dropped the blade and snap-drew both guns, ready to fire.

Harry up-ended the table and threw it at Stephen.

Stephen dropped both guns and threw up his forearms to cover his face.

Peter was there in the same moment, smashing through the flying desk, heading straight for Harry.

Half of the table still hit Stephen, knocking him down hard.

Harry caught Peter mid-leap and sent him flying into the wall, almost bent double under himself.

Harry smirked, sensing the advantage. "How'd you like that, Spidey?"

Peter got up and the two of them were circling each other coldly, looking for the opening. "That all you got?"

Harry circled till his back was to the fireplace, reaching for the knife on the floor. Stephen was suddenly there with the martini shaker, and he broke it open over Harry's face, sending the clear and flammable liquid into his hair and clothes.

Harry spun to swing on him, and Stephen used it to lever Harry into a throw that tossed Harry into the seven-foot high fireplace.

Harry roared as he emerged from the flame, clothes and hair lit up like a walking funeral pyre, as Harry threw himself at Peter, ignoring Stephen completely.

Peter took his cue from Stephen's last move, hurling Harry through the wrought iron and double glass balcony doors, shattering the whole thing as Harry suddenly rolled head over heels onto the balcony.

Harry patted out the flames as they ate into his clothes and hair and forced himself to stand.

The flames growing higher and menacing behind them, Peter and Stephen closed in for the kill.

"I protected you in high school, now I'm gonna kick your ass," Harry snarled, still on the ground.

"Ooh," Peter shuddered, feigning fear.

Harry lunged through the shattered door, and Peter slung him against the other one, hard enough to bend the metal. Peter got in close and jabbed, Harry dodging his head left and right as glass shattered under Peter's fists.

Peter gave up trying to punch and caught Harry by the shoulders, throwing him clear over the staircase, to the upper level.

Harry could barely gather himself when a wicked laugh rang out and Harry felt something heavy smash into his face, making him flip double as he landed back on the lower level where Peter was waiting.

Harry crouched, staying on hands and feet, lips drawn back over bloodied teeth in an snarl, gathering himself like the feral animal he was.

Spider and Goblin threw each other forward in the same moment, their momentum bouncing off each other and taken them both through the full length mirror, into the hidden room full of Goblin equipment.

Harry was on the floor against the broken glass, with Peter on top of him. He gathered both feet under Peter's gut and shoved him forcefully away, sending him back out into the room.

Stephen was coming in at the same instant, and jumped clear over Peter's flying body, eager to take up the fight, sword flashing.

Harry dove left quickly to avoid the sword and ran across the room, past the glider, past the various armors, past the rows of grenades, to the weapons stand, snatching up the other sword.

Green fire and metal flashed viciously through the air, making the stuffy air sing with steel death. When the swords connected, they lit up the dark spaces with sparks and harsh metallic screams.

Harry swung with savage intensity. Stephen matched him with a dancer's grace, the sword braced along his forearm, letting Harry's slashes and thrusts glance off the edge of his blade, looking for his opening.

One slash came down on the computer next to the gas chamber, and suddenly the Goblin Sky-Stick came alive; its jets going all at once in every direction, out of control spinning like a jet powered boomerang.

The opening came, and Stephen lunged, managing to open up a gash in Harry's stomach, and another across his face, jaw to ear, nearly taking Harry's right eye out and half his ear clean off.

Harry howled and both men ducked as the glider swirled over their heads.

Unable to maneuver, Stephen knew he was finished. The hot spike would go clean through him. This would be a good death. He watched the blade come toward his eyes…

…and suddenly stop.

Peter was suddenly right there, in a crouch with both of them, holding the blade in his fist, grinning maniacally, not at all in pain at the edge in his fingers.

For a beat, Harry just stared at him in disbelief.

Peter planted his other hand on the floor and used it to hold him in place as he swung up with both feet, kicking Harry's jaw a whole two feet higher…high enough that the passing edge of the Glider caught him in a jet-powered chop that sent him flying against the floor-to-ceiling glass case, filled with row after row of pumpkin bombs.

Peter caught the Glider as it spun past, and slammed it hard into Harry's throat.

Harry was against the floor, gasping for air.

Peter and Stephen stood before him, victorious.

Harry felt his heart sink. "You're going to kill me like-"

"-like you killed my father," Peter and Stephen, fed up, said it with him in perfect unison, having heard the song before.

"I'm through trying to convince you," Peter snarled. "Look what room we're in. You made your choice."

"He loved me," Harry croaked. "He loved me and you took him from me."

"Loved you?" Stephen responded derisively. "Where were you when Goblin made his first public attack? Right there on the balcony. Counted among his obstacles to be removed."

"He despised you," Peter agreed. "You were an embarrassment to him."

It was something Harry had long suspected, long denied, but knew in his bones.

Peter could see the thought play out on Harry's features and laughed.

Laughed.

"Look at little Goblin Jr.," Peter laughed to Stephen. He turned back to Harry. "Gonna cry?" he mocked.

Harry moved forward, attacking with nothing but anger making him reach for it. It was a punch that held nothing back.

Every ounce of massive proportionate Spider-Strength hurled itself into Harry's face. It was a blow that Stephen could feel rattling in his molars.

Stephen waved the dust away and checked Harry's pulse. "Still breathing."

Silence from Peter.

"I gave you the reins on this one, Pete," Stephen reminded him, taking a step back.

Harry moved, barely.

Peter marched over, and put a foot on Harry's throat. "Like it down there?"

Harry was trying to breathe.

"It's over. You lost," Peter said, teasing his former friend with stronger and weaker pressure on his neck. "This is your very last chance. With luck you can just be forgotten."

Harry started growling darkly. He had lost the fight. Again.

Peter was already walking out. "Y'know, I'm a little disappointed. Your father put up a much better fight."

Harry chocked inarticulately with rage, and picked up a grenade from the floor, hurled it past Stephen, directly at Peter…

…who dodged to the left without even trying.

Peter gave it a curious look as it came past him and caught it in a web, hurling it back the way it came. All of it seemed to Stephen as though he was mildly interested enough to see what would happen.

Harry couldn't follow the movement, but saw the supernova go off beside his head out of the corner of his eye.

He saw nothing else.

* * *

Peter walked out, like Harry didn't matter to him at all any more. And he didn't.

Stephen followed, rubbing his jaw. "Why'd you let him live?"

"What's the challenge of killing him? He's less than unimportant now." Peter pointed out. "Like you said once, people kill too often because it was made too easy. This was too easy."

The two men stood outside Osborn Manor for a few moments, neither saying a word.

After a while, Peter noticed Stephen staring at him. "What?" he asked finally.

"Nothing just…Marko, now Harry…finally getting your hands dirty." Stephen found himself appraising Peter with new respect. "Welcome to the Dark Side."

"If I only knew the power…," Peter quoted playfully under his breath. Respect. Stephen respected nobody, feared nobody.

**He fears you now.**

_Yes._ Peter thought deliciously. _He does._

Peter found himself glorying in it. Basking in it.

It was like Stephen. Stephen was always thinking like The Shadow, whether he had the cloak on or not. For the first time, Peter Parker was feeling like Spider-Man.

He was Spider-Man redux, Spider-Man unleashed. He felt his movements adapting. His stride was longer, his arms a moving a little faster, his eyes looking up instead of looking away. Everybody glanced at him as he walked, everybody stepped aside. They knew he was powerful. They knew without knowing, that he was a force to be reckoned with. "Dude," he found himself asking Stephen. "This is awesome. Is this how you feel all the time?"

"Pretty much," His cell phone beeped. "And then, of course, my phone starts ringing." Stephen checked it and raised it to his ear.

Peter suddenly froze.

In front of them was a newsstand. On it was the latest edition of _The Daily Bugle_. And the _Bugle_ had a picture of the black Spider suit. Spider-Man was in his usual 'take-off' pose, but in one outstretched hand was three bags of money.

Stephen wasn't looking as he chatted on his cell-phone. "Chloe?"

"The Mayor's office on line one. His Honor is madder than all hell that you backed him into supporting the Thief of the day."

For the first time Stephen noticed the photo on the newsstand. One look at it told him all he needed to know about it. "Tell me you don't believe that photo on the _Bugle's_ front page."

"Well….no, but it looks real enough, boss. These days, what in print or picture can you trust?"

"What indeed?" Stephen asked rhetorically, when he suddenly noticed Peter staring at the newsstand. "Put the Mayor off for a while. The market upheaval coming with Stark Industries takes precedence."

"Right, I'll hold them off for you."

Stephen came over to Peter quickly. "Oh, good grief. What's Jonah on about this time?" he asked as they read "Spider-Man! THIEF!" on the _Bugle_'s headline.

Peter stared blankly at it. And then looked closer at the credit. "Photo by Eddie Brock," Peter noted aloud, then he seemed to pull himself up even straighter. "I'm going to reach down his throat and take out his lungs with an ice-cream scoop."

Stephen smirked. "You've been hanging around me too long."

"Stephen, I need to use the photo lab in the Sanctum."

"Take it," Stephen said. "Forensic algorithms are on the backup discs in the second drawer. Empire State has a pretty good photo lab if you want to get an objective result. Failing that, my ice-cream scoop is in the top drawer next to the sink at the Manor."

"Took me six years, but you finally cracked a joke," Peter commented, already moving.

"And try not to kill him," Stephen called after him. "Cover-ups are annoying. Killing one annoyance is a day's business. Killing two is just plain careless. Too many stories to keep straight."

"No promises," Peter called back over his shoulder.

Stephen turned to the curb, and noticed the news vendor staring at him, having overheard the whole conversation. "What are you looking at?"

* * *

The _Bugle_ was holding an impromptu gathering for their new staff photographer and his scoop. Jameson had funded most of it personally, overjoyed that Brock had brought him the proof he had long demanded.

Robbie Robertson and Betty Brant were absent from the gathering, not really liking the fact that Brock was getting kudos for labeling Spider-Man a crook.

Brock ate it up. He was freely pouring out the champagne to the ladies, and even then, only the ones that hadn't met him yet fawned over how great it was for his career.

"I just got lucky," Brock said modestly. "Right place, right time."

The onlookers nodded sagely at his modesty.

Brock suddenly grinned. "Still, you might want to tell JJ to make a little more wall space," To make the point, he turned, picked up the framed edition of the front page, black Spider-Man on it mid-theft, and hung it up on the wall.

Suddenly the small party went silent. Brock looked in the frame's glass and saw Peter Parker standing there, with an unsettling grin on his face. The entire room had parted for him, suddenly dimming their voices in deference to an unconscious fear than nobody recognized or understood.

"Oh, good morning," Brock said to him brightly. "It is a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"It is," Peter said cheerfully, ever so happy for him. "I am impressed, Brock. I never thought that you'd do it."

"Yeah. No hard feelings?"

"Why would there be hard feelings?" Peter laughed. "I don't work here any more."

"I don't even know why I said that!" Brock agreed, laughing it off. "I know you have faith in the guy, but it's a fact."

Peter nodded, seemingly saddened with himself. "Yeah. Y'know, I've spent so long at the _Classic_ making him out to be a hero. Just got the key to the city and everything…I never thought he'd do something like that."

Brock nodded, happy to share his brilliance with Peter. "There was your mistake. You just assumed he was the good guy. There are no heroes nowadays."

"Guess not," Peter said, penitent in the face of superior wisdom. "Ah, the world will always need them though."

"I guess, but the camera never lies," Brock said.

"No, only photographers do," Peter said darkly, suddenly vicious.

The air changed. Suddenly they were having a whole other conversation. One where Brock suddenly felt endangered. "I don't know what you mean."

Peter was opening and closing a fist. His face suddenly seemed more angular…had he always had that shark-like look? "Well, you see, Brock, I was looking through some of my own old photos."

Brock felt his heart give a heavy thump, then stop, then start again triple-time.

"And it was seeming awfully…familiar," Peter finished, knowing he'd won.

Brock shivered. _Can_ shark-men smell fear?

Peter shook his head, no longer enjoying himself. "You're trash, Brock. You're worse than JJ. He makes up headlines based on actual facts. You make up headlines based on actual lies. You're worse than tabloids, you're worse than JJ, you disgust me."

Brock swiveled on him. "Listen, you-"

"Your photo's a fake," Peter barked.

Brock quickly turned his head back and forth, checking to see if there was anyone within earshot. Peter had spoken just loudly enough to shut him up, just quiet enough to keep others from hearing.

Brock licked his lips. There had to be a way. What did Parker want? Money? Recognition? He was working part time, taking classes, and Brock had nabbed the job that JJ had forever denied Parker…could that be it?

"Parker," he said evenly. "You're such a boy scout. Everybody fudges. Writers lean one way or the other, scientists focus on the facts they need, lawyers twist words, photographers work angles, borders…when you airbrush a photo or digitally age or insert a person, isn't it all a matter of degrees?"

Parker just stared at him.

"So what if JJ uses this photo? You go back to the _Classic_, run the same shot, write the opposite headline, and make it look like he was delivering the money to the bank. Spider-Man won't care. And even if he did, what could he do? Give a guy a break."

"What could he do?" Peter echoed, and proceeded to give Brock a break immediately. The shove that pout him against the wall and shattered the glass in the framed headline probably broke a shoulder blade.

The sound of shattering glass made heads turn.

Brock groaned. "O.K., you've made your point," he gritted out. "What do you want? A cut? A credit for the photo? A tip when the next headline's coming? Marsh would love to know what JJ was gonna have, I can make it happen. What's your price?"

"I don't have one," Peter said. "Scary, isn't it?"

Betty and Robbie came running out of their respective posts to see the two of them nose to nose and looking for all the world like they were about to start a punch-up. "What's going on?" Robbie demanded from across the room.

"Peter?" Betty asked in concern. "Is everything O.K.?"

Outwardly, Brock started smiling, laughing it off. "Everything's fine, just kidding around." Inwardly, Brock started searching for the new angle. He had pegged Parker wrong. He could always tell the wimps. The ones that would complain, and moan about the unfairness of it all, and then quietly shuffle back into their holes. Peter had seemed the type. How had he read that so wrong? Brock lowered his voice. "Look, I am begging you. If you do this, I will lose everything. There's not a paper in town that'll hire me. So what do you want from me? An apology? What?"

"You want forgiveness?" Peter said back in an equally low voice. "Get religion."

And finally the answer came to Brock. Peter did want something. He wanted to humiliate Brock. He wanted to punish the stolen photograph, and do it dramatically for all to see. He wanted to take everything from Brock. Parker had all the cards, and decided to play them all, destroying Brock completely over a charge that would never stick for a slight that wasn't even personal.

Peter picked up the envelope with the photo evidence and calmly walked away, heading straight past Betty and Robbie, who had to throw themselves out of his way.

"Show this to your editor," Peter said shortly. "Tell him to check his sources next time."

Betty Brant was staring at Peter in open disbelief. Who was the man and what had he done with the dorky kid who hung the camera around his neck every day?

And then she looked at the photo that Robbie pulled out…a picture of Spider-Man, with several circles drawn along the edges of his costume, and recognized his pose from the morning Bugle Front Page.

Brock stared after Peter too, and saw triumph and glee on Betty's face. She was glad to see him destroyed. Robbie went into JJ's office.

"Miss Brant," JJ's eerily calm voice came over the intercom, painfully audible in the unnatural quiet. "Would you get Empire State Photographic Lab on the phone for me please?"

Brock still hadn't moved from the wall where Peter had shoved him, but even he knew. The only thing worse than Jameson when he was loud, was when he was quiet and calm.

And he even said 'please'.

The muted murmuring lapsed into dead silence, every eye boring into Brock, who couldn't move.

The silence reigned for almost three minutes after Betty placed the call.

"Oh, Eddie?" Betty said happily. "Is there any champagne left?"

Dead silence from the room, everyone staring at Brock, knowing full well he was done.

Three minutes and five seconds passed before the one voice Brock dreaded hearing rattled the walls, shattering the deathly quiet.

"BROCK!" Bellowed J. Jonah Jameson, at full boil, his legendary temper back with the force of a hurricane. "GET! IN! HERE!"

* * *

Peter could hear everyone in the newsroom jump, even from street level, and grinned savagely. Two enemies down, one to go.

And Stephen simply wasn't strong enough to back him up on this one.

The Sandman couldn't beat him, but Peter had little interest in killing the same man over and over. Even if it was Uncle Ben's killer. This one had to be made dead completely and permanently, and now.

And Stephen's powers were a joke.

* * *

"It's a fake, Jonah," Robbie said unnecessarily. "Empire State confirms it."

Jonah compared the latest front page to the archival photo bearing Parker's name. Except for the background and the color of the suit, they were identical.

"Pack your things," Jonah said icily. "Get out of my building."

If looks could kill, Eddie Brock would have been reduced to a smoking spot on the floor. "I was just trying to give you what you wanted…"

"YOU'RE FIRED!" JJ thundered. "GET OUT BEFORE I HAVE YOU THROWN IN JAIL TOO!"

* * *

One did not question the orders of The Shadow, though rarely did they come directly from him.

So when the small night shift staff at the private airstrip outside New York received a visitor with a girasol ring, demanding to be flown to Slide Mountain at midnight, they did not hesitate to find a pilot and fuel the jet.

Such unexpected trips were not uncommon. But usually it was Stephen Cranston and not Peter Parker heading up the mountain.

* * *

The doors to the Temple of the Cobras were at least fourteen feet tall. Inside, they were opened by a series of pulleys, meant to take the weight. Without that, it would take any five men to open the entrance.

Peter had climbed a mountainside barehanded. He was thousands of feet high. The air was thin enough to give experience mountain climbers grief.

He didn't even blink before pushing the door open.

The Temple initiates quickly scurried into the hallway. The daily routine apparently started at daybreak here. "Halt!"

Peter could feel the mental force behind the command and shook it off. "Take me to your leader."

The Temple guards were stunned that he had pushed past them so fast, and started scrambling to keep up.

* * *

Just steps later, Peter shoved the doors to the Central Room open, stalking slowly toward the boy at the altar, incense weaving in gentle trails around him.

_**"Hello, Peter," **_The Marpa Tulku greeted him. _**"I'm surprised to see you here."**_

"I need you to help me kill someone," Peter said by way of greeting.

Temple students were gathered at the edges of the door, peeking into the room at the two of them in shock.

The Marpa Tulku looked at his visitor for a moment, unsure of what to think for the first time in dozens of years, then looked past him to his students. "_**You are dismissed,**_" he said to them, then turned to Peter. "_**Let us take this discussion somewhere more private.**_"

Peter gave a grumble as The Tulku led the way to his chamber.

"Sandman is too much for Stephen's mental abilities. To make sure he never comes back, I need to give him a much harder hit," Peter made his case.

_**"Does Stephen think I am required personally?"**_ The Marpa Tulku asked, concerned at the unusual nature of this request.

"I don't really care what Stephen thinks. This is my hunt. I'm running it, and I'm making the decisions regarding this particular mission. You're part of that plan. Get your things."

Now The Tulku was really confused. He took a moment to search the young man's mind, getting the distinct impression that something was _definitely_ wrong even in the little bit he'd seen without pushing deeper. _**"Tell me Peter, does Stephen even know you're here?"**_

"You aren't listening," Peter growled. "Laughing boy can't handle this. I can handle the physical stuff. You can handle the rest."

_**"I will not join you in this," **_The Tulku said, realizing now something _very_ seriously was wrong with this whole situation. Stephen _clearly_ did not know what was going on, and he _definitely_ did not send Peter up here. And the Peter Parker he had met several times would never dare take this tone with him._** "I have my own responsibilities here, and I cannot leave my students just to assassinate someone that has hurt you."**_

Peter got right up in his face. "YOU'RE GONNA DO THIS LITTLE BOY, OR I'M GOING…"

_**"…to do what?"**_ The Tulku challenged pointedly.

Peter took a breath. "Fine. If I have to go it alone I will. I've done it before."

_**"Peter, you know I will always help you and your partner…"**_

Peter spun on the boy violently. "WE DON'T NEED HIM! AND WE DON'T NEED YOU!"

The Tulku's eyes widened. _**"We?"

* * *

**_

_End of Part Twelve

* * *

_

_AN: What? You didn't think Stephen and MJ were actually a couple did you? _

_But don't worry, we aren't by any stretch done yet._

_ Read and Review!_


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Shadow, Adventure, Drama